


Loving That Cali Lifestyle

by skulls_and_stripes



Series: What Time Is It Right Now? [1]
Category: BoJack Horseman
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Depression, Eating Disorders, Everybody Lives, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 93,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23887840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skulls_and_stripes/pseuds/skulls_and_stripes
Summary: They had never really fought before.The arguments in the 90s didn't count; they'd drifted apart before the scandal that led to everything, and it was only natural that the stress of keeping everything hidden from the media would lead to a few squabbles. The time he threw Sharona under the bus didn't count, nor did the sabotage of Todd's rock opera; those fights were over in a matter of hours, and besides, he kind of deserved it. Even the near-constant "are you sure you're not an alcoholic?" debates, as irritating as they were, never escalated into real fights.Until she came.
Relationships: BoJack Horseman/Herb Kazzaz, Todd Chavez/Emily (BoJack Horseman)
Series: What Time Is It Right Now? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1803790
Comments: 52
Kudos: 63
Collections: Ollywoo AUs





	1. Hooray! Todd Chapter!

His voice becomes lower and more conspiratorial by the minute, and by the time they’re halfway to their destination he’s eagerly engaged in the story like it’s his own life. His fingers go from tapping on the steering wheel impatiently to barely managing to grip it in between his wild gestures of enthusiasm; his eyes start out blankly focused on the traffic ahead and end up barely able to glance at the road. “So basically, Courtney’s your beard and Emily’s your real girlfriend?”

“Uh, I guess,” he answers blankly. “Aren’t beards mainly a gay thing, though?”

“Eh, whatever. Gay people can get cancer anyway. Does Courtney know?”

Todd shifts in his seat, uncomfortable, and grimaces. “I mean, yeah, she knows it’s mostly just a publicity thing.”

BoJack wriggles his eyebrows mischievously. “But not about Emily?”

“...No, not about Emily. I’ve been meaning to tell her.”

“Well, if it’s  _ really  _ just a publicity stunt, you should be able to tell her no problem, shouldn’t you?” They come to a halt at a red light and he frowns. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Everything! You’re balancing a fake girlfriend, a real girlfriend, Mr. Peanutbutter’s campaign,  _ and  _ my bullshit? I can’t even do  _ one  _ of those things and you’re doing all four.”

He raises an eyebrow. “...You can't balance your  _ own  _ bullshit?”

“Pfft, you should see the state of my house.”

Todd continues to stare at him. “I  _ live  _ in your house.”

“Why, though? If I were you I’d be out of that shithole at the first opportunity. Hell, I’m  _ not  _ you and I’m still out of that shithole at the first opportunity.”

“Well, I don’t have anywhere else to go,” he explains nervously. “And you haven’t had sex with Emily in this universe, so I haven’t had a reason to leave.”

Two days ago, or maybe ten minutes ago, BoJack would have pointed out how this is a  _ bizarre  _ thing to say; now, he just rolls his eyes and says, “Can you  _ shut  _ up about your stupid-ass multiverse theory?”

“It’s not  _ my  _ multiverse theory, it’s a commonly accepted scientific idea!” He eagerly presses his head against the window. “Anywhere here’s fine.”

BoJack, hesitantly, pulls over. When he turns to face Todd, he’s already unbuckling his seatbelt. “Thanks for the lift. I would have come myself, but Emily’s place is too far to walk and my drone throne crashed.”

“Your  _ what  _ crashed? ...Oh, never mind.” He clears his throat nervously. “It was, uh -- It was actually kinda nice driving with you. I like hearing about your life.”

“...We  _ live  _ together, though. I talk about my life all the time, it’s not like you can only listen when I’m driving.” He pushes the door open. “Okay, so, uh, I can probably talk Emily into giving me money to get a cab back, but I’ll call you if I need a lift, okay?”

BoJack’s face falls. “Uh, you sure you don’t want me to come in with you? Or stick around outside? I can stick around outside, it’s really no problem --”

Todd is frowning at him by now, like he  _ knows  _ what’s going on but he’s reluctant to say it aloud. “Uh, I mean, it’s a  _ date,  _ so it’d be kinda weird if you were with us. And I guess you could wait in the car, but we’ll be at  _ least  _ a few hours and I might stay the night, so…”

“That’s fine!” says BoJack hurriedly, already unbuckling his seatbelt. “I can wait for a few hours, it’s no problem. I can even sleep in the car! I’m  _ really  _ committed to make sure you get home safe.” He grins. “Think of me as the designated driver.”

Todd tilts his head, staring at the several empty bottles littered in the back seats of the car and under the glovebox. “But you’re drunk.”

“Hey, I got us here okay!” he protests. “Come on, just let me hang with you and Emily for a day. I swear, I don’t mind being a third wheel.”

Todd’s eyes widen. “You mean like on a tricycle, where the only logical answer to the question of which one is the ‘third wheel’ is the one that’s at the front, since it’s the only one not directly parallel to another wheel, but the wheel at the front is actually the most important because it’s necessary for steering?”

“What? No! I just meant I don’t care if things are a little awkward, since you two are dating and all. Heck, you can even get naked, I don’t care!”

Todd cringes. “Uh, no thanks. But I guess you can wait in the car if you really want to.” He exits the car before BoJack can protest.

BoJack smirks smugly to himself. “Pfft, I’ll show  _ him.  _ I’ve got a phone, I can keep myself  _ busy  _ forever!” He unlocks his phone and promptly groans. “God dammit, why do I have a phone?”

His sole notification is a text message that he received overnight. He read it early this morning, but instead of answering it or acknowledging it in any meaningful way, he simply shoved it into the large bucket of things that he ignores in the hope that they’ll go away. And now here it is, having been in the bucket for three hours, and it still hasn’t gone away. How rude of it.

The text message reads as follows:

_ Hey, guys! I’m not sure if you’ve been keeping up-to-date with the episodes as they release - we’re still waiting on the Netflix release so you can binge watch it - but in case you didn’t know, Ethan Around is doing great! I was hoping we could have a family reunion episode, but I wanted to check which characters we can have before I start with the scripts. Can you guys make it? _

His initial reaction is to ask who the hell this guy is, since he isn’t saved in his phone. Then he quickly realises it must be Bradley Hitler-Smith, who he was  _ supposed  _ to save in his contacts list some two and a half months ago. He’d better do that now.

Eh, he’ll do it later.

He types up a quick reply, explaining that he doesn’t really have anything going on career-wise right now and he can make it. After hitting send, he drafts a second text, adding that he’d be  _ more  _ than happy to help if it gives him an excuse to get the hell out of his house.

He erases the second message.

He glances out the window. Todd’s out of sight now, presumably in Emily’s house. Todd is  _ perfectly  _ capable of getting himself home, or at least calling him when he needs a lift. There’s nothing to  _ do  _ out here. He should go.

...Go  _ where?  _

* * *

The next thing he knows, someone’s banging on his car door. 

He jolts awake, glancing wildly out the window. Todd’s banging on the passenger seat door, trying to wake him up. He opens the door for him, and he sticks his head inside.

“Can you take us to the store? We’ve gotta grab some supplies for our latest terrible idea.”

“Yeah, sure.” He groans. “Ugh, can we stop at a cafe first? I didn’t have coffee this morning.”

Todd climbs into the car, Emily clambering into the back seat behind him, and raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t wake up until ten AM and you’re still tired?”  
  
“I was up late last night,” he explains, waving a hand dismissively. “Ugh, somebody should make, like,  _ reverse  _ coffee. You know, to make you go to sleep.”

Todd blinks. “You mean hot chocolate?”

“Or warm milk?” suggests Emily.

“No, I meant, like, I dunno, a pill.”

“Melatonin?”

He glares into the mirror, annoyed at Emily for this suggestion. “No, and my thing is different, so shut up.” He turns to Todd. “God, how long was I asleep for?”

“Uh…” Todd grabs BoJack’s phone from the dashboard and quickly turns it on. “It’s four PM, and you have a bunch of text messages. A couple of them are from Sarah Lynn, who hasn’t overdosed in this universe.”

“Ugh. I’ll check it at goddamned Starbucks.” He starts driving, straining to keep his eyes open enough to avoid crashing into the traffic ahead of him, and pulls over at the first shoddy cafe that everyone’s supposed to be boycotting. 

He opens the door. “You kids coming?”

“I guess I could have a coffee,” says Emily.

Todd tags along too, even though he’s not interested in buying anything, because he knows that waiting in the car while your friends are doing stuff is kind of weird and pathetic. The drink BoJack ends up getting contains more alcohol than caffeine, and it contains a  _ lot  _ of caffeine. He checks his phone. One of his notifications is a missed call from the person saved in his contacts as a bunch of heart emojis; the rest are messages from Bradley’s stupid-ass group chat that he made.

_ Joelle: yeah, sure, i can make it. _

_ Sarah Lynn: me 2! _

_ Joelle: ...actually i just remembered i have a dentist appointment. _

_ Unknown number: But I never mentioned a date? _

_ Joelle: i have a dentist appointment every day for the rest of the year. _

_ Sarah Lynn: must have been all the vomiting _

_ Joelle: don’t you have a rusty bayonet to stab yourself with or something? _

He doesn’t respond. Instead he takes a large sip of his drink and says, “So what are you kids up to?”

“We’re not  _ kids,”  _ says Emily defensively. “We’re twenty-six.”

“Yeah, sure. Kids. Anyway, what’s the scheme this time?”

“We’re gonna prank Emily’s mom,” says Todd, grinning.

“Ooh, can you prank my mom too? She has severe dementia so she’s basically  _ always  _ super confused about what’s going on around her, so pranking her would be  _ incredibly  _ sadistic.”

Todd and Emily blink.

“Or not. What’s the prank?”

Emily giggles deviously. “So, first we’re going to replace her coffee with sugar…” 

“And then,” adds Todd. “we’re going to turn her living room into an office for our underwater basketball idea.”

“And then we’ll rickroll her!”

“Oh, cool.” He frowns. “Wait, what?”

Todd launches into a confusing explanation as BoJack and Emily finish up their drinks. Soon they’re piling into the car again, BoJack now wide awake and unable to stop his hands from shaking as he grips the steering wheel. “So I’m still a little confused about this underwater basketball thing.”

“Why? It’s pretty self-explanatory.” He blinks. “Hey, how come there are homophones but no heterophones?”

“Because heterophones would just be words that  _ don’t  _ sound the same, idiot.”

“What about biphones? Or acephones?”

“That makes  _ no  _ sense.”

“Biphones kinda make sense,” protests Emily. “I think it would be words that are spelled the same but can be pronounced differently.”

“No, that would be the opposite of homophones, so it would be a heterophone.”

His phone buzzes with another annoying notification, probably just Sarah Lynn and Joelle arguing. He comes to a screeching halt in a car park and opens the door. “So what do we need to buy anyway?”

“Uh, a  _ lot  _ of sugar, several basketballs, diving gear, and, uh -- the ocean.”

“Ugh, that might take multiple trips. I don’t know if Walmart sells the ocean.”

The three go into the store, and BoJack lazily follows behind as Emily and Todd eagerly discuss their plans and shovel basketballs into their trolley. His phone buzzes again, and again. He checks it. Still Bradley’s stupid-ass group chat.

_ Unknown number: Woohoo, Horsin’ Around family reunion! BoJack, is there any chance we could get a cameo from Mr. Libertoire? _

_ Sarah Lynn: while were passin round ideas, i saw this really awful selfie on insta yesterday n it gave me an idea! joelle had this really awful spray tan that made her look freakin orange, and… _

_ Joelle: don’t say it. _

_ Sarah Lynn: #BringBackPumpkinJoelle2017 _

_ Joelle: i might not be seeing you in person, right now, but i want you to imagine that i’m in your house flipping you off. _

_ Sarah Lynn: ok should i imagine u with the teeth marks on ur fingers? _

_ Joelle: kill yourself. _

_ Unknown number: OH MY GOD JOELLE WHY WOULD YOU EVER SAY THAT TO ANYONE _

_ Sarah Lynn: kill me urself u coward _

_ Unknown number: Are you two going to be arguing like this in front of the kids? _

_ Joelle: no. _

_ Sarah Lynn: i mean probably _

_ Unknown number: Oh my God. BoJack, any word on the Libertoire cameo? _

BoJack takes the text messages and places them in the large bucket of things that he ignores in the hope that they’ll go away. He puts his phone on silent and finally turns his attention back to Todd and Emily. Todd is on his phone, but he looks up when he notices that he’s done reading the messages. “Hey, can one of you buy me something on eBay? I’m broke.”

BoJack narrows his eyes. “What is it?”

“The ocean.”

He blinks. “What, the actual ocean?”

“Well, technically it’s a legal document stating that you have ownership of the ocean, but yeah, the ocean.”

“Someone’s selling the ocean on eBay?” He stares at his phone. “How much is it?”

“Uh, the actual  _ ocean  _ is five bucks, but the shipping is seven hundred dollars.”

_ “Shipping?!”  _ he chokes. “It’s the  _ ocean!  _ Are you seriously going to be shipping the ocean here?!” He groans. 

“Send me the link and I’ll buy it,” says Emily. He sends her the link and she completes the transaction. “Well, I now legally own the ocean. That seems like a whole thing.”

“Cool,” says Todd. “Let’s go buy these basketballs.”

* * *

It’s nearing five in the evening when they arrive back at Emily’s parents’ house, and despite his phone being on silent, he’s still painfully aware of the notifications that stare him in the face every time he checks the time. Missed calls from strings of heart emojis and people with too many last names; text messages from Joelle and Sarah Lynn continuing to hurl vile insults at each other, while Bradley makes his futile attempts to get them to stop. 

He puts all the notifications in the large bucket of things that he ignores in the hope that they’ll go away on their own. 

“So how exactly are we going to bring underwater basketball to my mom’s house?” asks Emily. “We don’t even have a pool.”

“I dunno,” answers Todd. “Can’t you just, like, bring the ocean into your house? Since you own it now.”

“The shipping is seven to ten business days.”

Todd gasps dramatically. “That’s almost six months in real time!”

“Let’s just start with the coffee and we’ll work it out from there,” she suggests. “Uh, BJ, could you go back to the car in case we need to make a getaway?”

BoJack stiffens. “Don’t call me BJ.”

“Sorry. But, uh --”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll wait in the car. Since that’s all I’m good for.” Before either of them can protest, he stomps back to the car. He takes out his phone. He hesitates.

All of his notifications have stayed in the large bucket of things he ignores in the hope that they’ll go away on their own. None of them have gone away yet, however. How rude of them.

He ignores all of the text messages that aren’t directed at him and all of the ones that are, and scrolls through his contacts. Hesitantly, he presses a name and calls her.

“...Hey,” she answers.

“Hey, Diane. How’s the campaign going?”

“How do you  _ think  _ it’s going?” She audibly groans. “I don’t know  _ how  _ he thinks he’s going to be the governor.”

“Hey, tell me about it. Todd’s girlfriend owns the ocean now.”

“...What?”

“Long story.” He hesitates. “Hey, remember back when you got back from Cordovia, and --”

“And you guys let me crash while I was too scared to face Mr. Peanutbutter?” She sighs. “Let me guess, you’re about to use that as a reason why I should let you crash at my house now?”

He chuckles nervously. “Why would you --”

“Because you’ve been asking me that  _ very  _ consistently for the last several weeks. And every time, I’ve told you that things are just too chaotic right now.”

BoJack grimaces. “I, uh. I’ve just been kinda …  _ overcrowded  _ at home, that’s all.”

“I  _ highly  _ doubt that.” There’s a short pause. “I’ve gotta go, Mr. Peanutbutter needs me to help him print some stuff out.”

“Okay, uh. Bye.” Ignoring the several missed calls and messages, he turns on his mobile data and whittles away the time on various social media. The only notification that he bothers to even acknowledge in any meaningful way, let alone respond to, is the one from Hollyhock a little after six PM telling him that he’s going to miss dinner if he’s not home soon. He replies saying he’ll grab himself something on the way home and waits for Todd to return. 

It’s another half hour and the sun is going down before Todd knocks on the window with a raised eyebrow. “You’re still here?” he asks, after BoJack opens the door.

“Yeah,” answers BoJack, not looking up from his phone. “Thought you might need a getaway vehicle.”

“...No, we’re good.” He clears his throat nervously. “I’m, uh, I’m staying the night with Emily. So you should probably, you know…” 

His face falls. “You sure you don’t want me to stay in a hotel in case you need a lift tomorrow? I can stay, it’s really no problem --”

“BoJack.” He sighs. “I can get home tomorrow. Just -- You should go, okay?”

“...Okay. Let me know if you need a lift.” He shuts the passenger door, and turns the key in the engine.

He takes the longest possible route home, making two stops along the way, first at a drive-thru to get dinner and then at a bar to get even more drunk than he currently is. When he finally screeches to a halt in his driveway, very narrowly avoiding leaving a dent in the car already there, it’s all he can do to stumble inside without eating shit on the pavement below.

He fumbles with his keys for a few minutes before someone takes pity on him and opens the door from the inside. It’s Hollyhock. She smiles nervously at him. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“...Are you drunk again?”

“...A little.” He grips the door frame so he can walk inside without falling over, and leans against the walls as he comes in.

“Where have you  _ been?” _

“Well, first I gave Todd a lift to his girlfriend’s house,” he slurs in explanation. “And, uh, long story short, Emily owns the ocean.”

“...Okay.” She frowns. “Sorry about dinner.”

“It’s fine.” He waves a hand dismissively and almost falls over as a result. “Where’s … ?”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to. He already knows.

Several weeks ago, he rather calmly picked up this entire issue and placed it in the large bucket of things that he ignores in the hope that they’ll go away on their own. The entire problem has remained there, unmoving, for the last several weeks, without even beginning to go away. How rude of it.

“...Hey, BJ.”

He gulps. “Hey, Herb.”

There’s a long, ominous silence.

“You still pissed at me?” snarls BoJack.

Herb takes a deep breath so that he won’t snap. He still ends up snapping. “How could I not be? We haven’t spoken about it or even really interacted with each other in  _ weeks.” _

“Ugh, whatever.” He attempts to turn off a light switch and instead stumbles toward a wall; while he manages to break the fall with his arm, he comes dangerously close to just breaking his arm with the fall in the process. “Are you eating cancer? ‘Cause that’s what I’d think you’d be doing, with your head so far up your ass.”

Herb laughs politely, but nervously, and it comes across as incredibly forced. He doesn’t  _ say,  _ “You’re one to talk,” but he certainly thinks it very loudly. Instead he says, “So I take it you’re also still angry at me.”

“Eh, who wouldn’t be?”

Herb watches with a grimace as BoJack stumbles into the kitchen, comes dangerously close to breaking almost every dish they own, and pours himself a glass of water. “...Do you want to talk about it?”

He downs the glass in a single gulp. “No.”


	2. If This Advice Applies To Any Other Aspect Of Your Life Or Relationship...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herb helps Bradley work on an episode of Ethan Around; Todd and Emily enjoy their date.

Bradley’s text messages stay in the large bucket of things that he ignores in the hope that they’ll go away on their own until he’s stupid enough and gullible enough and  _ bored out of his mind  _ enough to answer a call from an unknown number.

He’s sitting on his bed. He’s been sitting there for the last three and a half hours, ever since he carried his plate back out to the kitchen after eating breakfast in his room. He could leave at any time, and perhaps he should, but then he would have to confront all of the things that he’s been leaving in the large bucket of things he ignores in the hope that they’ll go away on their own. So, he answers the call.

“Who the hell is this?!”

Bradley’s response sounds appalled. “You  _ still  _ haven’t saved me in your contacts?”

“Ugh, I’ll do it later.” He will not do it later. “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to see if we can have a Mr. Libertoire cameo on the reunion episode of  _ Horsin’ Around?” _

His heart skips a beat. He tries to cover it with an overexaggerated groan. “Call him yourself, I’m not his goddamned messenger.”

“I don’t have his number! I tried messaging him on Facebook but he  _ never  _ answers.” There’s a short pause. “Why don’t you just ask him?”

He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Well…”

“You’re not in a fight, are you?” asks Bradley nervously.

“No!” he insists. “Not a fight. Just a … very heated debate. I’ll go ask him now and then message you, okay?”

“...Okay,” says Bradley hesitantly. BoJack hangs up, takes a deep breath, and goes downstairs.

“Hey.”

Herb looks up from his laptop. “Hey.”

“Um…” He finds himself wilting under Herb’s expectant stare, against the lingering voice in the back of his head telling him that  _ he knows you’re only talking to him because you want something,  _ telling him that  _ what kind of stupid piece of shit ignores his own husband for so long that when he finally talks to him everyone knows it’s because he wants something?  _ “Bradley wants to do a reunion episode of  _ Ethan Around,  _ and he was wondering if Mr. Libertoire could cameo.”

“Uh, yeah, sure, I can make it.” He smirks. “Only if I get to help with the scripts.”

“I’ll give him your email, if you want.” He quickly types up a message. “Okay, he knows how to get in contact with you.” He turns to leave. Hollyhock stares at him.

“Are you  _ seriously  _ going to go hide in your room again?”

He turns back to her and blinks. “Uh, yes?”

Herb gives him a look. “BJ, she’s seventeen. Don’t force her to be the adult here.”

“Why don’t  _ you  _ try being the adult?” snarls BoJack.

“Oh, wow, you’re rubber and I’m glue. Now  _ that’s  _ a mature comeback.”

“Guys!” hisses Hollyhock. “Can you  _ please  _ not? Just for two minutes?”

BoJack opens his mouth for a rebuttal and the look Hollyhock gives him shuts him up quickly. There’s a long, painful silence.

“So…” he mutters nervously. “Emily owns the ocean now.”

“Oh, okay.” Herb blinks. “Wait, what?”

“She brought it from eBay.”

“The  _ ocean?!”  _ chokes Hollyhock. “Who sold the  _ ocean  _ on eBay?”

“Jeez, I dunno, the previous owner?”

Herb frowns. “Where  _ is  _ Todd, by the way? I haven’t seen or heard from him all day.”

“He stayed over at Emily’s house last night.”

Herb chuckles. “I bet he’s getting up to all sorts of crazy schemes.”

* * *

He pouts childishly, crossing his arms. “You cheated.”

“At  _ Mario Kart?”  _ She raises an eyebrow. “Face it, Todd, the blue shell is part of the game. It’s not cheating.” She checks the time on her phone. “It’s almost lunchtime. Do you wanna go grab something?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” He turns off the game console. “Where do you want to go?”

“There’s this nice cafe around the corner from here. I mean, they only sell coffee and toast, but it is  _ good  _ toast.”

Todd frowns. “I’m not really that into toast.”

“You are if it’s this cafe. Come  _ on,  _ you can’t know you don’t like it until you’ve tried it.”

He blinks. “Why would I try it if I already know I don’t like it?”

Emily tilts her head. “But how can you  _ know?” _

“Uh, pretty easily? I just  _ know  _ that I don’t really feel like eating toast right now.”

Her eyes widen. “So what you’re saying is, you haven’t really tried any of the cafes in this area yet and you’re nervous?”

“What? No!” He frowns.  _ “Where  _ did you get that from? I just don’t want to eat toast.”

“Whatever the reason is, I’ll wait as  _ long  _ as you want me to.” She leans in closer. “But hey, don’t knock it ‘till you’ve tried it, okay? And if that advice ends up applying to any other aspects of your life or our relationship, that’s  _ totally  _ okay.” She slings an arm around his shoulders and runs a finger along his jawline.

He stares at her. “Okay, I’ll, uh -- I’ll keep that in mind.”

She sighs. “So what do  _ you  _ want to eat?”

“Uh… Cake!” His eyes widen. “Or maybe dragons!”

* * *

He smirks as another email arrives. “You’d really think growing up with an  _ amazing  _ script writer as a father figure would teach you something.”

“Yeah, you’d think,” says Hollyhock. She shoots BoJack an expectant look.

“Are you still going on about the grammar mistakes?” asks BoJack irritably. “Who  _ cares?  _ It’s like, who died and left the grammar Nazis in charge?”

“Grammar Hindenburg,” answers Herb without missing a beat, and BoJack has to shove his hand into his mouth to avoid laughing. A second later he notices Hollyhock giving him a strange look, and he tries to pass it off as biting his nails.

“But it’s worse than that,” continues Herb, seemingly unaware of how BoJack is now frantically attempting to use his sleeve to hide the fact that one of his fingers is bleeding. “Because there’s no  _ plot.  _ It’s like, he thinks that the  _ entire  _ episode is just going to be everyone saying hi to each other and Julia joking about how uncool Olivia is. We can’t make a whole episode out of that.”

“Have you tried, I dunno, adding a plot?” suggests Hollyhock.

“I would, but I’m  _ stumped.  _ Writer’s block is a  _ beast.”  _ There’s a buzzing noise that makes him frown. “Whose phone was that?”

“Mine,” explains BoJack. “I set a special ringtone for Bradley’s stupid-ass groupchat. It’s probably some important information or whatever about when we gotta film this thing.” He checks his phone. “Wait, no, never mind, it’s just Joelle and Sarah Lynn telling each other to kill themselves.”

“Oh my God!” squeals Hollyhock. “What a  _ horrible  _ thing to say.”

“Eh, it’s pretty normal for them.”

“That does  _ not  _ make it better.”

“Hollyhock’s right,” says Herb, frowning. “Joelle was pretty mean to Sarah Lynn when she was a teenager, and she never really got over it.”

“Of course she didn’t,” says BoJack, somewhat defensively. “She had a bad home life and the other kids from the show were her only friends, the last thing she needed was Joelle being a bitch to her.”

“I mean, I’m really sorry she went through that, but I don’t know if it justifies the fact that  _ #BringBackPumpkinJoelle2017  _ is trending on Twitter now.”

“Most of the people tweeting it don’t even know who Joelle is,” adds Hollyhock. “They just blindly do everything Sarah Lynn says.”

Herb’s frown deepens. “I just hate when they’re fighting like that, you know? I always thought of  _ Horsin’ Around  _ as being my family.”

“Yeah, well, I guess Joelle and Sarah Lynn don’t really feel the same way,” says BoJack. “Too bad real life problems can’t be solved in twenty-two  _ hilarious  _ minutes, huh?”

“...What if we  _ could?”  _ His eyes widen and he eagerly starts typing up an email. “Like, what if we wrote the plot of the episode in a way that forced them to confront their issues with each other?”

BoJack shakes his head. “If forcing them to confront their issues worked, we would have done it by now.”

“Still, though, it’s gotta be worth a try! We can just add some characters that are stand-ins for them and have them all sort out their issues in twenty-two  _ hilarious  _ minutes, and maybe if we’re lucky they’ll be inspired to do the same in real life.”

Hollyhock stares at them. “So basically, what you’re saying is that since Sarah Lynn and Joelle are fighting, they should confront their issues and move on?”

“...Yes,” says Herb.

“So when people are fighting, they should sit down and talk about what they’re upset about, and then they can move on?” Before either of them can protest, she adds, “That’s actually pretty good conflict resolution. And if that advice ends up applying to any other aspects of your life or your relationship, that’s  _ totally  _ okay.”

There’s a long, painful silence.

“You know,” says Herb. “I think I left the oven on.”

“That’s impossible, since you haven’t used the oven at all today,” says BoJack. “But I’m going to go and check just in case, and I will not be back for several hours.”

* * *

Despite how busy he undoubtedly is, it only takes a few rings before he picks up. “Hey, Todd! How’s your date going?”

“It’s going great,” answers Todd. “How’s your campaign going?”

“Well, am I the protagonists at the end of the movie  _ IT?”  _ asks Mr. Peanutbutter. “Because I haven’t actually seen it, but I am  _ presumably  _ killing it!” He pauses. “You don’t need a lift home, do you?”

“No, it’s fine. BoJack can pick me up later.” He frowns. “Emily’s in the kitchen right now, she’s making lunch.”

“...Lunch?” asks Mr. Peanutbutter. “It’s three PM.”

“We, uh -- we had a bit of an argument over what to eat. She was really into this cafe near her house, but I’m just not interested, you know?” He anxiously glances into the kitchen. “So yeah, she’s making cake now.”

“Well, it’s like they say -- you should always give things a chance before you decide they’re not for you!” Todd can practically hear the grin in his voice. “For example, a lot of people have said some really mean stuff to me recently, like ‘you’re not a politician’ and ‘you don’t even know what your political opinions are, let alone how to persuade people to agree with them’ and ‘what on Earth makes you think you can be governor of California?’, but I’ve ignored them  _ all,  _ because I can’t know whether being governor of California is  _ my  _ thing until I try it.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “But what if you just  _ know  _ something isn’t for you? Like, if just  _ thinking  _ about it makes you feel sick…” He squirms. “You don’t  _ have  _ to try it, do you?”

“Uh…” It’s clear from the uncertainty in his voice that he’s not at all used to conversations getting so serious, especially not with Todd. “I mean, I still think you should give it a chance, but I guess you don’t  _ have  _ to? It depends -- what are you talking about?”

Todd hesitates. “Nothing important. I, uh -- I gotta go. Bye.”

He hangs up and looks into the kitchen. Emily, halfway through checking on the progress of the cake in the oven, catches him looking and poses seductively. She shoots a wink in his direction. 

He cringes.


	3. Still Breaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herb and BoJack go to film the reunion episode of Ethan Around.

The car yells.

It doesn’t just roar, like any engine is prone to doing when it’s in full throttle; it  _ yells,  _ yells in distinctly English terms, yells in two different voices. It argues with itself, one accusatory, the other defensive; but the roles seem to switch at the drop of a hat, as soon as a particularly touchy subject comes up. It argues about Hollyhock, at first, and then the topics branch out; it argues about alcoholism, and then the hair and makeup lady from  _ Horsin’ Around,  _ and  _ that  _ segues into Todd’s rock opera, and by the time the car comes to a screeching halt in the car park it’s halfway through a rant about Butterscotch Horseman’s infamous novel.

The door opens, and they’re silent.

They walk inside, arms crossed, avoiding eye contact. They do their best to look like they’re just two complete strangers who  _ happen  _ to be walking in at the same time. They do a good job, too, until Sarah Lynn looks up at the sound of the door creaking open and runs to trap them in an overly tight hug.

It’s BoJack who fails to keep up the facade first, and when he pulls away from the hug he’s not just trying to get Sarah Lynn to leave him alone and give him some  _ goddamned personal space.  _ She looks at them quizzically, staring them up and down, and he can just  _ tell  _ she’s analysing their body language to figure out what’s wrong, and god damn it, that girl is an idiot but she is  _ smart. _

In the end, it doesn’t matter whether Sarah Lynn can figure it out, because Bradley still hasn’t forgotten the phone call. “Uh, did you two fight on the way here or something?”

“No,” says Herb stiffly. “Why do you ask?”

“You seem tense,” says Joelle.

“No, we’re good,” BoJack insists. “We just, uh -- had a bit of a  _ debate,  _ that’s all.”

“What were you debating about?” asks Bradley.

“...Whether or not I cheated on him.”

Joelle tilts her head to one side. “I feel like that would be a fight.”

“Shut up,” snaps Herb. Then, as though that wasn’t out-of-character enough to convince the others that something is  _ definitely  _ wrong, he adds, “I’m gonna go wait outside. Someone come grab me when I’ve gotta record my lines.” And then, just to make sure it’s  _ painfully  _ clear that he’s  _ angry,  _ he momentarily forgets that he’s supposed to be a baby boomer who goes on long rants about how it doesn’t  _ count  _ as interacting if there’s music playing in the background, and shoves a pair of earbuds in so that he can listen to some old song that was popular for ten minutes when he was a kid and hasn’t been popular since.

Bradley frowns. “He seems upset.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” snaps BoJack. Then, before they can start a debate on which of the original  _ Sherlock Holmes  _ short stories is best (it’s  _ obviously  _ the one with Silver Blaze, but stupid-ass Bradley thinks it’s the one with the red-headed men’s league), he adds, “Maybe it  _ was  _ a fight.”

“You should go talk to him.”

BoJack stiffens. For a second he considers that Bradley may be right. He quickly un-considers it and turns to Sarah Lynn. “Do you have any drugs?”

Sarah Lynn shoots him an offended look. “BoJack, I’ve been clean for over _ two years.” _

There’s a long pause.

“...Of  _ course  _ I have drugs.”

* * *

Chloe is confused.

This is normal. The episodes featuring any appearance of the original horse, even if it’s just a brief cameo, are always a little surreal. BoJack Horseman comes onto the set talking about things that are too complicated for her to understand and then failing to understand the most simple jokes.

“I’m just  _ saying,”  _ he continues to rant, waving his script around wildly. “It doesn’t make  _ sense  _ if the character says you’ll  _ never  _ get him in that jacket, and then in the next scene he’s wearing it! We need to add a scene to explain  _ how  _ they got him in that jacket.”

“That’s the point of the joke,” says Chloe.

“Shut up, Julia,” he snaps back, having seemingly forgotten her real name.

He goes on to rant for a long time about how he  _ didn’t  _ cheat. Chloe’s not sure what he’s been accused of cheating at. Mario Kart, perhaps? Or maybe Uno. Anyway, Bradley has to grab his sleeve to get his attention so they can get back to filming.

“And… Action!”

She’s been rehearsing this scene for a long time. Her mommy and daddy aren’t in the studio cheering her on, which makes her a little sad, but she still tries her best because she knows they’ll watch the recording. For some reason Bradley always insists on not having a live studio audience when BoJack is there. Something about rumours spreading.

She looks up at BoJack. “But  _ grandpa,  _ I want to go to the mall  _ now!” _

“I told you,” says BoJack, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We can go to the mall  _ after  _ you get your flu shot, okay? So why don’t you…” His face falls. “Uh…”

“Cut!” yells the director.

Bradley pinches the bridge of his nose. “BoJack, your line is ‘So why don’t you swipe  _ right  _ on that idea?’!”

“Sorry!” says BoJack, wilting under his stare. “I can’t remember. It’s, uh, it’s the drugs.”

Chloe tilts her head to one side. “What are drugs?’

“Drugs are the  _ best!”  _ yells Sarah Lynn, who is hanging upside-down from a light fixture and drawing a crude doodle of a pumpkin. “They make you feel all  _ giddy  _ and like your whole life hasn’t gone to shit.”

“Language,” she scolds. “Can I try drugs?”

“Sure!” says Sarah Lynn, hopping down from the light fixture, and then Joelle drags her out of the room before she can get Chloe killed. 

There’s a lighting issue, which causes a break. Chloe tugs BoJack’s sleeve, frowning up at him. “Uh, Mr. BoJack?” 

He groans. “What?”

“What’s up with Mr. Kazzaz?” she asks anxiously. “He’s been outside pacing all day.”

He freezes. “We, uh -- We just had a fight earlier, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Her face falls. “Why don’t you go say sorry to him?”

“...Because I’m  _ not  _ sorry.”

She frowns. “But if you made him upset, you should be sorry.”

“I didn’t do a damn  _ thing  _ to him.  _ He’s  _ the one jumping down my throat over shit that never happened.”

“...If you didn’t make him upset, then why is he pacing around outside?”

BoJack freezes.

Bradley walks back into the room with a sigh. “Okay, we don’t know how long that lighting issue’s gonna be, so we’re going to get Herb’s lined pre-recorded and then take a break.”

“No!” snaps BoJack under his breath. He takes several steps toward Bradley. “Don’t bring Herb in,” he hisses. “I don’t want him to see how high I am.” 

While Bradley begins to explain why they  _ have  _ to get Herb’s lines now because there’s nothing better to do, Chloe tugs on BoJack’s sleeve. “Maybe you could crouch!” she suggests excitedly.

He frowns. “Huh?”

“So he won’t see how high you are!”

For a second he looks like he’s about to snap at her. Then, he sighs, and places a hand on her shoulder. “Thanks, Chloe. I’ll -- I’ll keep that in mind.”

* * *

He’s still humming the tune to some breakup song under his breath when he walks in, and BoJack very quickly leans over to Sarah Lynn to ask for more of whatever she’s been giving him. He then proceeds to ask if those drugs are safe to take with alcohol. When Sarah Lynn answers that she isn’t sure, he declares that it’s “better safe than sorry” and downs half a bottle of whiskey.

Some time later, he stumbles outside. Joelle is sitting on the outside steps. He only just manages to take a seat next to her without eating shit on the pavement. “Hey.”

She raises an eyebrow. “What are you doing here?”

“Wanted to talk to ya,” he slurs. “Also, got cut off.”

Her eyes widen.  _ “Sarah Lynn  _ cut you off? Jeez, I wonder if you have any brain matter left.”

BoJack remains silent, suddenly very intensely fixated on the concrete of the stairs. “Herb and I had a fight.”

“Uh, yeah, no shit, Sherlock.” After a pause, she adds, “And by the way,  _ A Study In Scarlet  _ is  _ way  _ better than the one with Silver Blaze.”

BoJack attempts to look up at her, but isn’t entirely sure where she is, or where his eyes are for that matter -- he  _ thinks  _ they’re on his face, but who knows at this point? “Sarah Lynn likes  _ A Scandal In Bohemia.” _

“Ugh, don’t get me  _ started  _ on Sarah Lynn.” It’s no use; he’s already gotten her started. “She  _ literally  _ got a joke about my eating disorder trending on Twitter.”

“It  _ was  _ a genuinely bad spray tan.”

“That’s no excuse! That  _ cunt.”  _ At his wide eyes, she adds, “It’s okay to say that in Britain.” This doesn’t make his eyes any less wide, because the main reason for their widening was not her language, but in fact at the rapid colour change of a nearby tree. “She’s so bitchy. It’s like, she thinks that just because she had a bad childhood she can do  _ whatever  _ she wants.”

“Yeah,” slurs BoJack. “I mean, I had a shitty childhood, and I turned out  _ fine.”  _ He stands up, and almost immediately gives himself a concussion by hitting his head on the pavement.

Joelle gasps. “Oh my God, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” answers BoJack, who is not okay.

She helps him to his feet and the door swings open. “Hey, just so you two know, one of the kids brought a  _ bunch  _ of water guns, and everyone else is having a bit of a water fight in the other room while we work on the lighting.”

Joelle’s eyes light up. “So I can pretend to shoot Sarah Lynn?”

“Uh, I guess, but --”

She’s dashing inside before he can finish the sentence. BoJack hesitates, then follows.

* * *

As expected, it’s chaos. 

Herb and Bradley are leaning near the doorframe, as the “designated adult supervisors”, which immediately makes BoJack narrow his eyes, which in turn makes Herb shoot him a look that  _ very  _ clearly communicates that if there just  _ happens  _ to be someone in the room that  _ freaks the hell out  _ when someone splashes him unexpectedly, well, BoJack had  _ better  _ not mention it. The three kids are playfully dashing around the room, shooting at each other and laughing. Joelle and Sarah Lynn are doing much the same to each other, but in a way that makes it a little unclear whether they’re having fun or trying to drown each other.

There’s a table in one corner of the room with a few full water guns on it -- man, that kid  _ really  _ went all out. BoJack, too high to remember that there are  _ kids  _ here, stumbles toward the table and grabs a water gun. He positions it  _ almost  _ in his mouth, like how he would hold a real gun if he was trying to kill himself. He glances around to see if anyone’s looking, and shoots.

He then drops the gun to the ground and struggles to cough up the water. 

Once he’s relatively certain he’s not going to drown and everyone’s staring at him with mild concern, he picks the gun back up. “Huh. I was so busy trying to show everyone that I wanted to kill myself that I almost actually  _ did  _ kill myself.”

“Now  _ that’s  _ a life summed up,” snarks Herb.

BoJack pauses, deep in thought. Then he turns to Herb, who is now busy talking to Bradley about the script. He aims his gun with shaking hands. Then, he pulls the trigger.

He shouldn’t  _ like  _ watching it but God knows he  _ does.  _ He goddamn  _ smirks  _ like some sort of sadist as Herb  _ yelps,  _ seriously, who  _ yelps  _ when they get splashed unexpectedly? If  _ anyone  _ has an excuse to be weird about water it’s  _ him,  _ pfft, he bets Herb’s parents never tried to drown him, repeatedly, and he  _ willingly  _ moved into a house with a pool so  _ really  _ it’s on him and  _ God,  _ BoJack’s being an asshole.

Herb turns to face him, arms posed defensively. “BoJack,  _ don’t,”  _ he snaps, and BoJack can  _ tell  _ he’s serious because he’s using his full name for once, and he should  _ really  _ apologise now. 

Instead, he pulls the trigger again.

“Okay, that’s it,” snaps Herb, and he marches over to the table to grab his own water gun. For someone who yelps like a goddamned  _ baby  _ every time he gets splashed he’s remarkably good at water fights, and it’s a pretty equal fight if the squealing doesn’t count for anything, seriously, get a grip Herb,  _ God you’re an asshole BoJack,  _ and the fact that he’s too high to aim properly doesn’t help. 

They run out of water at roughly the same time, and Herb stops to catch his breath, because apparently all of that overreacting was  _ really  _ exhausting, and says, “That was surprisingly cathartic.”

“It was,” agrees BoJack, and he almost smiles. Almost nearly smiles. Almost comes close to nearly smiling.

“Are you drunk or high?”

“Both.”

Herb frowns. “You  _ do  _ know that can kill you?”

“Ugh, you worry too much.”

Herb folds his arms over his body, suddenly uncomfortable. “I’m still pissed at you.”

That’s all it takes, apparently. “You have  _ nothing  _ to be pissed at me for, so get your head out of your cancerous ass.”

“The cancer’s been in remission for  _ years,  _ you shithead.”

BoJack opens his mouth for a rebuttal, and then forgets it when Sarah Lynn roughly pushes him aside in her dash to grab a new water gun. Joelle, now soaking wet, runs after her, and they wrestle for the last one that still has water in it. Nobody bothers to point out that they could just go to the tap and refill one. Before long they’re in some sort of swordfight with the empty water guns, each bruised and grunting and covered in sweat, and  _ furious. _

Herb turns to Bradley. “So, do you know which scene we have to do now?”

Bradley blinks. “Everyone’s covered in water, Herb.”

* * *

Sabrina wipes her face, which is only wet because water was sprayed onto it between shots to make her look tearful, and steps away from Olivia. “I’m really sorry I kept making fun of your weight,” she says, not very convincingly. “I didn’t realise you were insecure about it.”

“And  _ I’m  _ sorry I was so mean to you sometimes when we were kids,” says Olivia. “I was a teenager, I was dealing with my own problems, but I didn’t realise that you had gone through so much, with how your parents died when you were so young.”

The two share a long moment of eye contact, and then step forward, into a long, heartfelt hug.

“Cut!”

Joelle immediately steps away from Sarah Lynn cringing. “Well that was a shitshow.”

Sarah Lynn dusts down her arms. “Ew, I touched it.”

_ “IT?!”  _ repeats Joelle incredulously. 

“You touched each other a lot while you were fighting in the water fight,” says Bradley.

“That scene made  _ no  _ sense,” complains Joelle. “I mean, it was pretty well-established in the original show that we  _ just  _ had a sibling rivalry -- we didn’t  _ hate  _ each other. And if Sabrina was traumatised from her parents dying, then Olivia was too from her mom being a junkie.”

Sarah Lynn cringes. “Ew, I got Joelle’s  _ gross  _ on me.”

“Get raped, you  _ cunt,”  _ snarls Joelle.

“Kill yourself,” counters Sarah Lynn.

Bradley frantically gestures for them to stop. “Okay, you two, we have a couple of  _ literal children  _ looking up to you guys as  _ role models,  _ so if you could shut up about rape and suicide for maybe ten minutes, that would be  _ great.” _

Herb frowns. “I  _ really  _ thought that one episode where their characters make up would fix everything.”

BoJack stares at him.  _ “Why  _ would you think that?”

Herb stares down at his shoes. “Because I’m a dumbass that tries to act like I can fix other people’s problems, but I can’t even fix my own?”

“Uh,  _ yeah,  _ pretty much.”

Bradley grimaces. “Well, maybe they’ll get along a bit better when we film the next reunion episode.”

There’s a long, painful silence.

“There’s not gonna  _ be  _ a next reunion episode,” says Sarah Lynn bluntly. “You’re gonna be lucky if you make it to the end of this season without this shitshow getting cancelled. You’re a pathetic excuse for a writer and you think jokes about swiping left are a substitute for actual content.”

Bradley’s jaw drops, but before he can think of a comeback, Joelle says, “As much as I hate to admit it, I agree with her. I mean, who  _ knows  _ when we’re all gonna be together again.”

“Probably when one of us ends up in hospital and the rest of us feel guilty enough to visit,” snarks Sarah Lynn.

Everyone turns to Herb.

Herb frowns. “Why are you all looking at me?”

Joelle grimaces. “You  _ are  _ the oldest of us…”

“And a cancer survivor,” adds Bradley.

“An  _ anaphylactic  _ cancer survivor,” chimes in Sarah Lynn.

“Honestly,” says BoJack. “I’m so high, I can’t tell  _ where  _ I’m looking.” Everyone looks at him with mild concern and he waves a hand dismissively. “Eh, I had a bunch of coffee and alcohol to balance out the drugs, so it’ll be okay.”

“That is  _ not  _ how drugs work,” says Herb. 

Joelle clicks her teeth irritably. “I’m going outside for some fresh air.” 

“And I’m going outside to make that air less fresh,” says BoJack, grabbing a lighter from one pocket and fumbling to find a cigarette in the other.

The two go outside together and BoJack lights his cigarette. Joelle frowns. “So what’s going on with you and Herb?”

BoJack waves a hand dismissively. “I’m, uh -- I’m still trying to figure out what  _ happened.  _ So I guess that news is still breaking.”

“Well, what’s he so angry with you for?”

He leans against a wall and lets out a large puff of cigarette smoke. “So, there’s this kid that basically showed up at our door. Her name’s Hollyhock and she was adopted by eight gay idiots. She was talking about how she looks  _ just  _ like me and she wants to know if I could be her biological father, and I  _ knew  _ it was impossible since I was dating Herb at the time she would have been conceived, but we decided to humour her and get a DNA test anyway, and guess what?”

Joelle grimaces. “You’re related?”

“Bingo.”

She hesitates. “So I’m guessing you cheated on him?”

“No!” He takes a step away from her, suddenly defensive. “I would  _ never  _ do that.”

“You  _ absolutely  _ would.”

He looks genuinely hurt by this point. “I  _ wouldn’t.  _ I  _ love  _ Herb.”

“Oh, so it’s possible for  _ you  _ to love someone now, is it? You’re a wreck.” Before he can think of a comeback, she adds, “So how long has this been going on, anyway?”

He frowns. “A couple months.”

Her eyes widen. “And you  _ still  _ haven’t dealt with it?”

“I  _ want  _ to,” he explains. “But I just -- I don’t know  _ how,  _ you know? I mean, I don’t know how I can convince him I didn’t cheat when I’ve got no idea myself where the kid came from. And I mean, every time I bring it up he just gets upset all over again and starts talking about how  _ betrayed  _ he feels, and then he starts goddamn crying and I’m  _ shit  _ at dealing with crying people and -- and really, at the moment it’s best to just pretend nothing’s wrong.”

“Oh yeah, the  _ pretend nothing’s wrong  _ approach,” snarks Joelle. “I tried that one when I was a teenager. Then I had to miss five episodes to go to a clinic.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“It’s -- It’s different.” 

She frowns. “So wait, if you just  _ ignore  _ it when you’re angry at each other, what have you done before now? Like, have you seriously not had a  _ single  _ fight in the last twenty-four years?”

BoJack grimaces. “I mean, we  _ have,  _ but -- I don’t want to talk about it.”

She pouts. “What, not even  _ one  _ story?”

Rubbing the back of his neck nervously, he forces a nervous smile, and makes a promise that he  _ knows  _ won’t be enforced, because as Sarah Lynn said,  _ Ethan Around  _ is a complete  _ shitshow.  _ “...Maybe I’ll tell you next episode.”


	4. Real Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While watching the reunion episode of Ethan Around with Hollyhock, BoJack gets up to grab some chocolate.

If one were to cut a seam in the flesh of their head to remove it from their skull, and then proceed to cut apart the skull, it would be relatively easy to remove the brain. If someone were to then unravel the complex workings of the now-dead organ and lay out all of the blood vessels end-to-end, the resulting string would be long enough to run halfway to the moon if placed upward on the Earth’s surface. And yet, somehow, it’s not long enough for Hollyhock to wrap her head around the madness of the reunion episode.

“What is it _about?”_ she asks, with a raised eyebrow. “I mean, is it about Julia getting her flu shot, or the horse being uncool, or Sabrina and Olivia making peace with each other? It feels like you’re trying to have too many different plotlines and you just end up having no good ones.”

BoJack waves a hand dismissively. “Of course it’s a piece of shit, have you _seen_ the writers? I mean, one of them is a whiny ex-actor that thinks he’s some sort of sitcom expert because he worked on one for ten minutes in the 90s, so he just makes a bunch of stupid-ass ‘jokes’ at the expense of social media he doesn’t even _use…_ and the other writer is Bradley Hitler-Smith.”

 _“Why_ is that his name?” asks Hollyhock.

“I dunno. Why are you called Hollyhock?”

“I’m not talking about his first name.” She shudders. “The fact that it’s hyphenated makes it _so_ much worse. It’s like, somewhere along the line there was a Hitler that married a Smith, and he changed his last name and _didn’t_ get rid of the Hitler part? Who _does_ that?”

“Duh, neo-Nazis.” He frowns. “Do you have any idea when Herb’s gonna be back?”

“Nope.”

Herb is _running errands. Running errands_ is something he’s been doing with increasing frequency lately. When he’s _running errands,_ he’s gone for anywhere between twenty minutes and two hours, and he always adamantly refuses to explain what these ‘errands’ may be. BoJack’s theories range from ‘he actually _is_ running errands’ to ‘he’s driving around in circles so he doesn’t scream in frustration the next time he’s in a room alone with BoJack’.

“I bet he’s seeing a shittonne of cancer,” he mutters. “You know, with his --”

“Head so far up his ass?” guesses Hollyhock. “You have made that joke _so_ many times. And really, right now I just think he’s seeing _red._ You know, ‘cause he’s angry.”

He waves his hand dismissively. “Whatever.” 

“Are you seriously telling me you and him have _never_ had a fight like this before?”

“Never,” he confirms. He stands up. “I’m gonna go grab some chocolate from the kitchen.”

Her eyes light up. “Can you grab me some too?”

“Sure.”

He walks into the kitchen. While he’s there, he takes a swig from the vodka bottle on the bench. He takes another swig, and another, and maybe that’s half the bottle now and maybe he should stop now.

...Maybe he _should_ stop now.

 _Can_ he stop now? No, no, of _course_ he can stop. He doesn’t have a _problem,_ and he is most _definitely_ not an alcoholic. All the times Herb said he was were just nagging.

* * *

Herb watched him cautiously as he downed another shot. “Don’t you think maybe you should try to ease up on the drinking?”

“Why?” he asked carelessly. “I drink this much every day.”

“...Yeah, that’s why I think maybe you should try to ease up on the drinking.”

“Oh _God,_ not this bullshit again.” He rubbed his temples, frustrated. “Ever since that time I went on a bender where I wrote an autobiography consisting mostly of erotic _Doctor Who_ fanfiction, you’ve been on my ass about how I might have a _drug problem_ or some bullshit.”

Herb pinched the bridge of his nose. “BJ, if you have to mention your erotic _Doctor Who_ fanfiction in an argument, that’s probably a sign that you should just give up. And _why_ did Amy have to have twenty pages of sex with the Doctor?! She’s literally River’s mom, that’s like if I had sex with Beatrice.”

BoJack cringed. “Thanks, I did _not_ need that mental image. Besides, it’s totally different. There’s time travel involved.”

“My point still stands.” He frowned. “BJ, I’m getting worried about you. I mean, I know you’ve always been a heavy drinker, but this is just too much.”

BoJack, out of spite, downed another shot. “Well, what do you _want_ me to do?!”

“...Not that?”

He shook his head, evidently having given up on the entire thing already. “Then how do _you_ think I should cope with the fact that my _husband is dying?!_ Just sit tight and be fine with it?!”

“I’m not _dying,”_ said Herb, somewhat defensively. “The chemo’s working. I _might_ make a full recovery.”

“Well, if -- I mean, _when_ you do, then I’ll stop drinking, okay?!”

Herb raised an eyebrow. “So you can just _stop?_ Like, at any time? Like, if you wanted to stop drinking you could just _stop_ and it wouldn’t be a problem?”

“Of course I can.” He scoffed. “I’m not an _alcoholic.”_

“So if you can just _stop_ at any time, then why _don’t_ you?”

BoJack downed another shot.

* * *

He takes another swig of vodka and shakes his head. That wasn’t a _fight._ It was barely a squabble. Herb dropped it as soon as he promised to quit drinking once the cancer went into remission, which he still hasn’t done, but he’s _getting_ there, god damn it, is he meant to change all at once?

Well, he _could_ change all at once. He could just stop drinking and never start again. He just doesn’t _want_ to.

There are _real_ alcoholics out there, people who are lost causes. He’s not like _them._ He _could_ stop drinking whenever he wants, but he doesn’t want to, because if he never tries then there’s no poorly-concealed withdrawal and no uncontrollable shaking and no point where he has to look Herb in the eye and say that _he needs help._

If he ever seriously _tries_ to change, then there’s no need to be afraid of the day when he tries his best and finds that he _can’t,_ the day when he has to accept that every bad thing everyone ever said about him was right. 

So, he’s not an alcoholic. He’s not a lost cause. He’s not a _real_ alcoholic, like his father or Sarah Lynn or Sharona.

...God _damned_ Sharona.

* * *

Herb, frowning deeply, put the phone down. “Sarah Lynn’s okay.”

“...That’s good.”

There was a long, painful silence.

“I think you should call Sharona.”

“I _know,”_ snapped BoJack. “You haven’t shut up about how I need to call her all day.”

“That’s because you still haven’t called her.”

BoJack stood up, but paused before he reached the phone. “What am I meant to _say?_ ‘Hey, sorry about how I threw you under the bus to save my own ass, wanna hang?’?”

“Well, don’t say it like _that,_ but yeah, essentially, that’s what you need to say. Apologise for getting her fired, and ask if she still wants to be friends. She probably really needs a friend right now.”

BoJack frowned. “I don’t want to.”

“Yeah, I gathered. But you _have_ to.”

“I’m scared.”

“And I’m sorry about that,” said Herb, in a voice that made him seem not at all sorry about that. “But if you’re going to be throwing people under the bus, then you need to be prepared to at least _try_ to apologise.” After a pause in which BoJack rubs his arm nervously, he adds, “I promise, it won’t be as hard as you think it will be -- it’s best to just get it over with.”

“I had no choice,” BoJack insisted, holding his hands up defensively. “It was her or me -- and if I got fired, the whole show would be over, and she’d be out of a job anyway! What was I meant to do?!”

“...I don’t know,” Herb admitted. “But I mean, they wouldn’t fire the _star_ of the show! You probably could have taken the fall for her.” He looked down at his shoes, and his voice dropped to a near whisper. “You’ve … You’ve done it before.”

“Exactly!” yelled BoJack. “Ever since I threatened to walk to keep you on, Angela’s been giving me these _looks_ all the time, and I can just _tell_ she’s looking for an excuse to get rid of me!” His voice dropped to a whisper, paranoid about being overheard even in the privacy of his own home. “I think people are starting to get _suspicious_ of us. And if Angela knows I’m gay too, she’ll be gunning for us to both get fired.”

“You’re not actually _gay,_ though.”

BoJack raised an eyebrow. “Oh, well that changes _everything_ then. I’ll just walk up to Angela and explain that _yeah,_ I’m dating a guy, but _actually_ it’s okay because I used to date a bunch of girls and one of them was apparently Bradley’s mom. I’m _sure_ people in 1994, which is the year it currently is, will know and care what the word bisexual means.”

“That’s not the -- look, you’ve _got_ to call her. She just lost her job, and whether it was your only option or not, it was your fault! You _need_ to call her and apologise.”

“Yeah, well maybe _you_ need to call her and apologise!”

Herb blinked. “I can’t apologise on your behalf.”

“Maybe this is _your_ fault, did you think of that?” He took a step forward. “Maybe if _you_ hadn’t decided to suck some dick in public, then I wouldn’t have had to put my ass on the line to save you, and then I’d have a little wiggle room to protect Sharona!”

Herb glared, pointing a finger accusingly. _“Don’t._ Don’t you _dare.”_

“I’m serious,” protested BoJack. “That was _your_ choice! You _knew_ what the consequences were and you did it anyway, and then you made me step in to save you. You could have just, you know, _not_ sucked dick in public!”

“BoJack, _don’t,”_ warned Herb, and BoJack could tell he was serious because he was using his real name for once. “I lost almost _everything_ when I got outed. My family disowned me! Most of my friends left me! You -- You _saw_ how upset I was, I was damn near _suicidal!_ Are you saying _that_ was my fault?”

 _“Yes!”_ snapped BoJack. “That is _exactly_ what I’m saying! Why would it _not_ be your fault?! Because you were _upset?!_ Newsflash, asshole, I get _damn near suicidal_ over things that are my fault _all the time,_ and you don’t see _me_ using it as a reason why you should apologise to someone who got fired!”

Herb remained silent for a long time. Then, god _damn_ him, he started goddamned _sniffling._

“No!” said BoJack frantically. “No, no, no, no, no, _don’t_ start crying!”

Herb buried his face in his hands and forced a small chuckle. “Well, that’s _very_ persuasive. I feel _way_ better now.”

“I’m sorry,” BoJack continued, stumbling over his words, rushing to calm Herb down like he was a schoolyard bully trying to calm down their victim before a teacher noticed they were crying. “I -- I shouldn’t have said any of that, okay? I was just, I got defensive, but -- but it’s okay! I’ll call Sharona, it’s okay, you were right, just _please stop crying --”_

“Woah.” Herb wiped his eyes and held up a hand to stop his rant. “You just had a _really_ quick change of heart. Are you just saying that to get me to stop crying?”

BoJack rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I’m not good with crying people!” At Herb’s glare, he quickly added, “But yes, I will call her.”

“Good.” 

He breathed a sigh of relief. “That was a nightmare. After that whole thing where you got outed started to die down I thought you were done crying.”

Herb tilted his head. “What, just -- _done_ crying? Like, _forever?”_

“Yeah, pretty much.”

He blinked. “Uh, that’s not how it works.”

“Really? Worked pretty well for me.”

* * *

He shakes his head as he gulps down one more sip of vodka, okay just _one_ more sip, okay _now_ he’s seriously done, okay just _one_ more sip and that’ll be the last one, and oh shit the bottle’s empty now, how did that happen?

The spat over Sharona wasn’t a _fight._ It was just a disagreement. It was over in a few very heated minutes, so it barely counts, and besides, he deserved to get yelled at anyway.

All that drinking is probably bad, so he pours himself a cup of coffee to even it out, followed by a glass of water. As soon as he’s finished the water he feels his heart rate increase _very_ quickly, wow, he didn’t think there was much caffeine in that but apparently he just consumed a _lot_ of stimulants. He really should work on that reverse coffee idea, which, contrary to what Todd said, is _not_ the same as hot chocolate.

...Oh, _Todd._

Now, _come_ on. _That_ didn’t count as a fight either.

* * *

Herb paced around the living room with his walker. “You’ve _got_ to tell him the truth.”

“Why?” protested BoJack. “It’ll just make him more upset. Besides, he _loves_ that video game.”

“You _ruined his life!”_ yelled Herb, frustration at an absolute peak. “He could be _famous_ right now, he could be a _millionaire,_ and instead he’s still here sleeping on our goddamned couch because you wanted a roommate.”

“I wouldn’t say he could be a _millionaire,”_ said BoJack, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I mean, it was a shitty rock opera.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to sabotage it.”

“I know, but …” He stopped, mid-sentence, and turned away. _Deep breaths, it’s okay._ It wasn’t okay, not in the slightest, but it was comforting to tell himself it was. “I freaked out, okay?” His head drooped. “I didn’t want to be alone, when you…” 

“That’s not an excuse to go around sabotaging people’s rock operas.” When BoJack still didn’t face him, his features softened and he placed a hand on his shoulder. “Look, BJ, it’s okay to be scared. But you can’t use it as an excuse to hurt people.”

“Shut _up!”_ snapped BoJack, still not looking at him. “You don’t _get_ it. You don’t know what it’s like for me! Nobody has _ever_ loved me, _ever,_ and then you just _waltz_ along and you’re too _stupid_ to see that you should leave me because I’m a stupid piece of shit!” He finally turned to face Herb. “And now I have a husband and a roommate that don’t hate me for some reason, and I might lose both of them because of goddamned cancer and a stupid rock opera, and you want me to just _take_ that lying down?!”

“Well, _yeah,”_ said Herb. “I know this is hard, but there’s nothing we can do except hope the chemotherapy works. And you can’t just keep hurting people because you’re scared. So, are you going to apologise to Todd?”

BoJack hesitated. “Yeah, sure, I’ll tell him later.” He took off his jacket. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go take a shower so I can’t tell if I’m crying or not.”

* * *

See? _Not_ a fight. Barely an argument. Certainly not a real fight. 

That’s the problem. They’ve never had a _real_ fight before, not one that lasted for weeks on end, because every other time they’ve argued there’s been a clear-cut solution, a few words that, if said, could have the entire issue resolved in twenty-two _hilarious_ minutes. Herb was always one for long weeks spent discussing what the problem was and how they could prevent it in the future when BoJack was mad, but BoJack was quick to leap for the obvious solution. Herb’s upset because he won’t call Sharona; call Sharona, everything’s fine. Herb’s angry because he won’t confess to Todd about the rock opera; tell Todd the truth, and now he has a great “I’ve already fixed it” excuse if Herb mentions it again. Herb thinks he’s an alcoholic; promise to stop drinking, hopefully the issue won’t pop up again.

The thing is, this time, there’s no clear-cut solution. Well, there _is,_ but it’s completely impossible. This isn’t like when he was a kid and his dad was in a bad mood and he would just think of some bad thing BoJack could have done so he would have an excuse to vent his anger at the kid, and BoJack would spend a few pitiful hours begging him to believe he had no idea what he had done wrong until he inevitably caved and “confessed” to whatever it was for fear of a worse punishment. Herb won’t be satisfied with a false confession. Herb won’t just want an admission of guilt, he’ll want a name so Hollyhock can find her mother so at least _some_ good can come of all this, and besides, he _can’t_ lie to Herb.

He attempts to drink some more vodka, but the bottle hasn’t magically replenished its supply in the time it took for him to drink coffee and water. How rude of it. He lazily tosses the empty bottle into the corner of the kitchen reserved for stuff he can’t be bothered taking out to the recycling bin yet. He’d quite like some more vodka, but he’s too lazy to grab more from the fridge, so he makes up for it with another cup of coffee. Yeah, he’s _definitely_ not sleeping tonight.

That’s okay. He’s essentially given up on sleep.

He’s essentially given up on a lot of things, really. He’s given up on any pathetic idea he had that maybe someday he’s not only going to get off his stupid ass and do something _good_ with his life, but said good thing will actually make him happy. He’s dangerously close to giving up on salvaging his relationship altogether; he’s already given up on the idea that _he_ can fix it. He’s just drinking the days away, hoping that maybe if he transfers his frustration into something more tangible like constant drunkenness then Herb will see how upset he is and stop being angry, or that some external force will conveniently prove his innocence.

That’s another part of the problem. BoJack drinks near-constantly and hides away in his room when he can’t find an excuse to leave the house and makes a big show and tell of how he’s _suffering_ whenever he’s in the room with Herb because he’s _surrendering;_ when he shows everyone how _upset_ he is, he’s saying, “somebody look at me!”, he’s saying, “I can’t fix this myself, somebody come fix it for me.”

When BoJack makes a big show of how he’s _suffering,_ he’s surrendering; he’s waving up his white flag. But Herb is seeing red with anger and all he can see is _that's a red flag, h_ _e’s ignoring me because I’m mad at him, that's a red flag, he’s making everyone focus on how he’s upset that I’m calling him out rather than how I’m upset, that’s manipulative, red flag red flag red flag._

They had never really _fought_ before.

The arguments in the 90s didn’t count; they’d drifted apart before the scandal that led to everything, and it was only natural that the stress of keeping everything hidden from the media would lead to a few squabbles. The time he threw Sharona under the bus didn’t count, nor did the sabotage of Todd’s rock opera; those fights were over in a matter of hours, and besides, he kind of deserved it. Even the near constant “are you _sure_ you’re not an alcoholic?” debates, as irritating as they were, never escalated into real _fights._

Until _she_ came.

He finishes his coffee, puts his cup down with shaking hands -- yep, that’s gonna be yet another sleepless night -- and goes back to the living room.

Hollyhock looks at him expectantly. “Did you bring the chocolate?”

His eyes widen. “...Oh shit.” He groans. “I’ll be right back.”


	5. Love and Marriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily visits Todd at BoJack and Herb's house.

For some stupid goddamned reason, his body decides he needs to wake up in the morning like some sort of  _ person,  _ instead of at three in the afternoon like he’s used to. When he walks out to the kitchen, Hollyhock and Herb and Todd are already sitting at the table, eating goddamned  _ breakfast  _ together, the  _ nerve  _ of them. And worse, they’ve left a full goddamn plate at the empty seat, so that he can eat with them all nice when he wakes up.

Assholes.

He makes himself some coffee and downs several cups of the stuff quickly. Then he turns to leave.

Todd frowns. “Aren’t you gonna eat?”

Adamantly refusing to even pretend he’s not rolling his eyes, he walks back to the table. Not even bothering to sit down, he shoves a couple forkfuls of the stuff into his mouth, barely managing to swallow it without choking. Then he turns to leave again.

Hollyhock stands up and grabs him by the shoulders, forcing him into his seat. “You are going to sit down and eat your breakfast, and you are going to participate in the family conversation  _ without  _ arguing with Herb. Got it?”

He glares. “You’re not my real mom.”

_ “Eat,”  _ she insists, and however reluctantly, he does so.

“Jeez,” says Todd into the ensuing silence. “Is Hollyhock BoJack’s kid, or is it the other way around?”

Herb shrugs. “I’m kind of getting an older sister vibe,” he mutters, waving a fork. “Or, like, a younger sister that’s way more mature for some reason.”

BoJack opens his mouth for a comeback, then closes it. After swallowing another bite of food, he opens it again. “You mean like how all your sisters grew up  _ way  _ faster than you and that’s why I had sex with one of them before we started dating?”

Herb, after he’s managed to swallow down the lettuce that he very nearly choked on after hearing this news, sputters out,  _ “What?!” _

BoJack looks him dead in the eye. “You heard me.” He eats another mouthful and stands up. “Well, I’m pretty full now, so --”

“Nope.” Hollyhock glares at him. He sits back down.

There’s a long, painful silence.

“Emily’s coming over today,” says Todd. “I, uh, I hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah,” says BoJack. “Herb and I can pretend to not be angry at each other for one day, right, Herb?”

Herb stares at him. “So which one of my sisters did you have sex with?”

“Does it matter?” He turns back to Todd. “See, we’ll be  _ fine.” _

Todd swallows down some tomatoes uneasily. “I hope so.” He clears his throat. “So, you know what really annoys me?”

“When your underwater basketball idea doesn’t work because the ocean has seven to ten business days of shipping, somehow?” suggests BoJack.

He shakes his head. “When you’re watching a movie and the villain’s motivation is that everyone  _ thought  _ he was evil, so he just decided to  _ become  _ evil.”

“I  _ know!”  _ agrees Hollyhock. “It’s like, are we supposed to feel sorry for you because some kids in the fourth grade thought you were a meanie? I don’t.”

BoJack rubs the back of his neck uneasily. “I mean, I can kind of get the idea. Like, if you’re going to get punished for shit you didn’t do, I don’t blame you if you decide you might as well do it anyway.”

“It’s a shitty motivation,” says Herb. “Like, I can see why you would want to do bad things if people already think of you as a bad person, but it’s still not an excuse if you end up hurting people.”

BoJack frowns. “Well clearly  _ you’ve  _ never gotten the shit beat out of you for  _ having the TV up too loud  _ when it was  _ clearly  _ my mom.” He swallows another bite of food. “Seriously, dad,  _ why  _ would I be watching a movie about the difficulties of being a woman in a shitty marriage?! I wasn’t even in the same room as the television at the time.”

“Well, that was shitty of your dad, but there’s a  _ huge  _ difference between having the TV too loud and going around robbing banks.”

“Still, though -- I know it’s not an excuse to be a shithead, but I get the motivation behind it, that’s all.” He grins. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to go cheat on you just because you think I did already.”

Herb opens his mouth to argue, and Hollyhock gives him a look to shut him up.

They finish breakfast in relative silence.

* * *

Emily arrives late in the afternoon, as BoJack finishes up his first bottle of vodka for the day. She’s got a pack of UNO cards and she is  _ very  _ insistent that they should  _ all  _ play together, for some reason.

Bitch.

Worse still, Herb has the goddamn  _ nerve  _ to  _ put his thing down, flip it and reverse it  _ back to BoJack when he  _ knows  _ BoJack has no red cards. So BoJack picks up a card from the draw pile, reads it, and immediately says,  _ “Bullshit.” _

Emily smirks. “Oh, did you get the ‘talk about all the people you’ve had sex with or draw twenty-five’ card?”

Herb blinks. “Wait, that’s a card?” He leans over to see the card. “Emily, I  _ really  _ don’t think that’s how you’re meant to use the custom cards.”

“Then how am I meant to use them?”

“This is  _ so  _ unfair,” whines BoJack. “Most of the people I’ve had sex with were women I barely knew in the 80s! I mean, apparently one of them was Bradley’s mom, and I don’t even  _ know  _ which one!”

“One of them was apparently my sister,” adds Herb.

“Exactly! This is ridiculous.”

Todd frowns. “It  _ does  _ seem kinda invasive…”

“And I’m under the age of consent in California,” adds Hollyhock. 

Emily waves a hand dismissively. “If you don’t want to talk about your sex lives, then you don’t have to! Just draw twenty-five.”

“But that would  _ ruin  _ the game!” protests Hollyhock. “How is someone meant to win after they’ve picked up that many cards?”

BoJack, sighing and rolling his eyes, begins to take twenty-five cards from the deck, and would you look at that,  _ he still has no goddamned red cards _ . The game continues.

Todd, prompted by Hollyhock’s ‘Draw Two’ card, picks up another one of Emily’s custom cards, which apparently all say the same thing. He cringes. “Uh, does this still apply if you’re a virgin?”

BoJack, rather politely, bursts into laughter.

“BJ!” hisses Herb, nudging him just a  _ little  _ too hard in the ribs.

“Dude, you’re  _ twenty-six,”  _ laughs BoJack. “Go get laid already!”

Todd shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Emily leans toward him. “So, uh, do you wanna go take a break from the game and fix that?”

“...Uh, no?”

“Ugh, fine.” She takes twenty-five cards from the pile and slides them toward Todd.

Hollyhock frowns. “I feel like this game is unfair.”

Herb wins in the end, because he and Emily are the only people willing to pause the game for a good twenty minutes just to talk about sex. Emily is a close second, and the remaining three collectively give up on the game altogether after Hollyhock finds another one of Emily’s custom cards.

“What now?” asks Emily, standing up. “Do you guys have any video games?”

BoJack thinks for a moment. “Uh, there’s a  _ Wii  _ under the bed in the guest room, but it’s really old so I dunno if it’ll still work.”

Emily races upstairs to check it out, Todd right behind her. Herb turns to Hollyhock. “Do you want to go play with them?”

“No, I was gonna go have a shower.” She exits the room, leaving BoJack and Herb alone.

There’s a long, ominous silence. 

“So…” BoJack begins, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Danny Bananas, huh?” At Herb’s frown, he quickly adds, “I’m not judging, it’s just not what I expected.”

“You can’t talk until you tell me which sister it was,” snaps Herb. He frowns. “So, do you wanna tell me why you decided to draw twenty-five?”

“I already explained,” says BoJack defensively. 

“Oh, I can think of  _ several  _ possible explanations.”

“Because most of them were thirty years ago and I barely knew the women at the time?” he suggests. “Because most of them didn’t even last two minutes? Because my underage daughter slash not-daughter slash  _ it’s complicated  _ was in the room and I didn’t want to make things weird?”

Herb sighs. “BJ,  _ why  _ are you trying to convince me you never cheated on me?” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ve told you, I’m not going to leave you over something that happened eighteen years ago. But you’ve gotta be honest with me.”

“I  _ am  _ being honest with you,” he insists. “Herb, I would  _ never  _ cheat on you.”

“You have a daughter!”

“I don’t know, maybe the DNA test was wrong?” He rubs his arm uneasily. “Babe, I -- I would  _ never  _ do that, but I don’t know how I can convince you that I didn’t cheat on you.”

“You can’t,” snaps Herb. “You have to tell me the truth if you want to fix this.”

BoJack sighs. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I have to go, uh… arrange all our pennies in stacks by year.”

Herb rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that’s  _ totally  _ not an obvious excuse to get away from me.”

* * *

It’s early in the evening when Emily storms into the living room. “I don’t want to wait for a cab. Can one of you guys give me a lift home?”

Herb frowns. “Woah, what’s going on? Did you two have a fight?”

“No,” snaps Todd, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “We just had a  _ debate.” _

“I can give you a lift home?” suggests BoJack.

Herb shakes his head. “No, no, you two  _ obviously  _ had a fight. We can sort this out, I’ll mediate, just -- tell me everything.”

Todd frowns. “Everything? Even the time I counted to a million?”

“...What?”

* * *

He took a deep breath. “One, two, three, four, five, six…”

* * *

“No!” snaps Herb.

Todd’s face falls. “Aww, I was just getting to the best part!”

“What best part?” asks BoJack. “Seven? Anyway, I think Herb just wanted you to explain the debate with Emily.”

Emily crosses her arms and begins to pace around. “I want to go  _ home.” _

BoJack sighs. “I’ll give you a lift, it’s only a twenty-minute drive.” He unlocks the front door and leads Emily out to his car. She climbs in and leans against the window dejectedly, while BoJack starts to drive.

“So…” asks BoJack, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “What, uh … what happened?”

She sighs, and launches into an explanation.

* * *

Todd pouted as the  _ Wii  _ failed to start up. “Aww, I was going to beat you in Mario Kart!”

“Pfft, as if.” She put the console back under the bed. “We can still watch TV, though. You have  _ got  _ to get into  _ The Good Place.” _

“I dunno,” said Todd. “I mean, the premise is just a bunch of people in Hell thinking they’re in Heaven, sounds pretty boring. Besides, I already know the big twist, so it won’t be as fun.”

“Are you kidding? It’s  _ better  _ if you already know the big twist!” She pouted. “How can you know you don’t like it if you haven’t even tried it?”

“Why would I try it if I already know I don’t like it?”

“Come on, just the first two episodes!” she insisted. “If you don’t like it, we can watch something else.”

Todd rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Uh…”

“So it’s decided!” She flopped onto the bed and slung an arm around his shoulders. “We’re going to have some Netflix and chill.”

Todd froze, just for a moment. Then he stood up. “Okay, you need to stop.”

She frowned. “Stop what?”

“Stop asking me for stuff over and over again when I’ve already said I’m not interested!”

Her face fell. “I already told you, it’s fine if you want to wait before having --”

“I don’t want to  _ wait,  _ I just don’t want to do it at  _ all.”  _ He frowned. “Why can’t you accept that?”

* * *

“Oof,” says BoJack. There’s not much else to say. He says more anyway. “Well, why  _ can’t  _ you accept that? I mean, you can date him without banging, can’t you?”

“I don’t  _ want  _ to,” she protests. “I mean, I can go a couple weeks, maybe even months, but -- long-term? I don’t want to just never have sex again.”

“Well, that sucks.” The car comes to a screeching halt outside her house. “Wish I knew how to help you, but as you know, I’m having my own relationship issues.”

“Yeah.” She grimaces. “I’m really sorry about you and Herb.”

“Eh, not your fault.” He sighs. “Still, though, it’s just -- it makes you wish life was like a sitcom, you know? Like, it would be so great if all of this could be fixed in twenty-two  _ hilarious  _ minutes.”

Emily chuckles. “I mean, you just spent twenty minutes driving me, so if you think you can fix this in twenty-two hilarious minutes, you’d better think fast.” She laughs. “I mean, what could you  _ possibly  _ do in two minutes?”


	6. Misery Loves Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BoJack goes out for a "few" drinks.

_ Piece of crap.  _

His eyes shoot open.

_ Stupid piece of crap. _

He rolls over sleepily and realises he has  _ way  _ too much room.  _ Oh my God you absolute piece of crap, you’ve gone and made BJ leave you. _

Or maybe BoJack’s just in another room. No, no way, BoJack always sleeps in, it’s rare for him to be up before ten in the morning.

_...What time is it? _

He grabs his phone from the nightstand and turns the lock screen on. It’s eleven AM.

_ Wow. Way to go, idiot. You slept in later than BJ. That’s gotta be some sort of record. _

He sits up and shakes his head. It’s not his fault. He didn’t sleep well last night.

_ Oh, because you were busy feeling sorry for yourself that BJ cheated on you? Get over yourself. And get up, you lazy ass. _

He pushes the blankets away and stands up. He goes out to the kitchen. BoJack swallows down a gulp of coffee and stares at him “Gee, looks like someone’s finally awoken from his eternal slumber.”

_ He’s right.  _ “Shut up.”

“I made brunch,” says Hollyhock, gesturing toward the two plates she’s left on the table. “It was meant to be breakfast but neither of you actually woke up at a reasonable time.”

_ Great, now you’re forcing the teenager to act like an adult making food for you,  _ **_and_ ** _ not waking up enough in time to eat it? Piece of crap.  _ “Sorry I slept in.”

“It’s fine,” replies Hollyhock.

_ See? She  _ **_said_ ** _ it’s fine, so you can quit beating yourself up about it, you self-deprecating asshole. _

_ Calling yourself a self-deprecating asshole is still beating yourself up, idiot. _

_ So is calling yourself an idiot so maybe just cool it with all the self-insults. _

BoJack groans. “I already had coffee for breakfast.”  _ Oh for God’s sake, he’s not eating so he doesn’t have an excuse to be in a room with you for five minutes? Really? God, you must be intolerable.  _ “I mean, thanks for the brunch, but --”

“Just eat with Herb,” snaps Hollyhock.

He sits down at the table, and BoJack takes a seat across from him.  _ Oh my god that son of a bitch -- _

_ Okay, Herb, deep breaths. Just eat breakfast. Being angry at BJ helps nobody. _

_...That lying cheating son of a bitch, screw him, what are you still doing here, he cheated on you and won’t admit it and -- _

BoJack swallows a few forkfuls of food and stands up. “Okay, I’m done.”

Hollyhock frowns. “You barely ate.”

“I told you, I had coffee already and that’s basically a meal anyway.”

_ Wow, are you really so  _ **_impossible_ ** _ to be in a room with that he’d rather be hungry than sit down with you? No wonder he cheated on you. _

He finishes brunch quickly and then goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth. BoJack is already there, and he jumps when Herb enters, waving his toothbrush defensively. “What are you doing here?!”

“Brushing my teeth,” snarls Herb. “What are  _ you  _ doing here?”

“...” BoJack stares down at the toothbrush in his hand. “...Also brushing my teeth.”

“Well, brush them, then.” He then proceeds to grab the toothpaste before BoJack can and start brushing his teeth first, out of some petty desire to  _ win  _ some nonexistent tooth-brushing race. 

_ Wow congrats asshole. You won at brushing your teeth faster. What do you want, a goddamn cookie? It’s really no wonder he cheated on you, you are completely  _ **_intolerable._ ** _ Apparently you’re so intolerable your own husband freaks out when you walk into a room while he’s brushing his teeth! _

_ Maybe it’s because you’re a fag. _

_ How would that be it?! He’s literally married to you, he can’t be homophobic, but oh, you just  _ **_love_ ** _ claiming homophobia to avoid admitting you’re a piece of crap, don’t you? This is just like when you nearly got fired and everyone left you because you decided to be an idiot and get caught being gay in public.  _

_ Okay, deep breaths. You have  _ **_got_ ** _ to stop beating yourself up over this. It’s normal to sleep in sometimes, and you can’t blame yourself for what BJ did, he’s just shitty sometimes. You’ve been stressed lately, cut yourself some slack. _

He spits out his toothpaste, rinses off his toothbrush, and takes a deep breath. “You know,” he mutters, and he  _ knows  _ he’s just starting shit but it’s not like it makes a huge difference. “We could have had this entire thing dealt with  _ ages  _ ago if you’d just told me who Hollyhock’s mom was.”

BoJack freezes. “Look, I don’t know  _ what  _ Hollyhock’s deal is, but I am  _ not  _ her dad. I  _ never  _ cheated on you in 1999.”

_ Oh my God that asshole. _

_ Oh, get off your moral high horse, no pun intended, you know he wouldn’t have cheated if you were good enough for him.  _

_ Come on, Herb, breathe. Being angry at BJ won’t help things and blaming yourself is useless. _

He looks BoJack dead in the eye. “Is this really the hill you want to die on?”

“Is this really the hill you want to kill me on?” counters BoJack.

_ Oh my God you’re  _ **_killing him --_ **

_ No. It’s reasonable that you’re upset with him right now and you can’t let him make you feel guilty about it. BJ is notoriously overdramatic and you can’t take it at face value every time he says something like that. _

He sighs. “So which one of us is going to find a paper-thin excuse to leave the house rather than deal with our problems today?”

“I was planning on going out for a few drinks.”

_ Pfft, a  _ **_few_ ** _ drinks? He’s never stopped at a few. _

_ Okay, you’re totally right, but maybe don’t say it out loud.  _ “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“No.”

“Well, have fun. And, uh, stay safe.” He goes back out to the kitchen, barely managing to keep his eyes open.  _ Lazy shit. _

_ Hey, you haven’t been sleeping enough lately because this whole thing is stressing you out, give yourself a break. _

His eyes fall on BoJack’s coffee.  _ Okay, it’s reasonable to be mad at him but he always tells you that he doesn’t want you, Todd, or Hollyhock touching his coffee. Drinking it would just be shitty. _

He pours himself a cup.

_ Seriously, Herb, knock it off. Not only is this petty as hell, it’s violating BJ’s boundaries. Do  _ **_not_ ** _ drink that coffee. _

He drinks the coffee. 

_ I can’t  _ **_believe_ ** _ you drank that coffee. _

He can’t even finish the cup, so he tips it down the sink and rinses the cup so BoJack won’t notice.  _ Okay, yeah, that was shitty. Not doing that again.  _

_ It was also … weirdly strong?  _ He can already feel his heart rate increasing.  _ Geez, no wonder he doesn’t want anyone else drinking it. _

Hollyhock sighs.

“Hey,” he says, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t get down on yourself. We’re gonna find your mom eventually.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Yeah!” He smiles despite himself. “BJ can’t keep lying to me forever -- I’m surprised he’s held out this long. Eventually he’s gonna crack and tell us.” He doesn’t  _ say,  _ “And even if he doesn’t, we’ll figure something out,” but he certainly thinks it very loudly.

_ Okay, Herb, you got this. Any day now he’s going to tell you the truth, and if he doesn’t, you’ll find a way to find out yourself. You can do this. You’re Herb goddamn Kazzaz, and you can do  _ **_anything._ **

_...Even if you are a bit of a stupid piece of crap. _

* * *

_ Slut. _

The familiar brown fur makes her turn sharply.

_ You pathetic little slut. _

She forces a smile. “Oh my God, BoJack! What are you doing here?”

He barely looks up. “Drinking,” he answers flatly, gesturing to the bottle in his hands.

_ He thinks you’re annoying. Of course he does, you  _ **_are_ ** _ annoying.  _ “Same here!”

He raises an eyebrow. “I thought you were trying to sober up?”

“Yeah, but I gave up, because…”  _ Because you can’t commit to anything and you’re too scared to face life sober because then you’d have to confront the fact that you’re a pathetic little slut, and that’s all you are and all you’re ever gonna be.  _ “Because I realised it was  _ stupid,  _ you know?”

“I  _ know,”  _ agrees BoJack before gulping down another alcoholic sip. “Like, what, you’re meant to just  _ never  _ have fun and spent your whole stupid life thinking about how shitty everything is, just because it’s bad for your liver or something? Such bullshit.”

_ See, he gets it.  _ “Ugh, what do you need a liver for anyway?”

_ Wow, we’ve got some A-level bullshitting going on here. Guess which whore is trying to pretend she doesn’t know what a liver is so she doesn’t have to admit that she was doomed starting from when she agreed to be on that sitcom and now she’s destined to just surround herself with sycophants and enablers until she dies tragically young? It’s this bitch, Sarah Freaking Lynn! _

“Got any drug recommendations?” he asks sardonically. “I’ve mostly just been getting shitfaced drunk but I’m willing to branch out.” 

“I mean, I’m pretty booked this week, but you can come over this weekend.”  _ Great, now you’re dragging your pseudo-dad into your bullshit.  _ “You ever tried  _ Poseidon powder?” _

He blinks.

“Cocaine. I’m talking about cocaine.”

“Oh yeah, cocaine. Yeah, sure, I’m down for that.” 

_ Great, too late to back out now.  _

_ I mean, you probably will anyway. You can’t commit to things. _

_ Oh, get over yourself. You deserve to hang out with BoJack. He’s the only person who really  _ **_gets_ ** _ you, because he’s a massive asshole that needs to get his shit together, and so are you. He’s like, a version of you that’s what you could be if you were less of a pathetic little slut. _

“Cool, I’ll, uh -- I’ll call you later on, I guess, to keep you posted.” 

“Cool.” He takes another sip from his drink. “Hey, Sarah Lynn?”

“Yeah?”

“How do you think we’re gonna die?”

_ Suicide.  _ “Uh, how  _ aren’t  _ we gonna die? There are  _ so  _ many ways we could go. Epic car crash, blindfolded go-kart accident, sky-diving gone wrong, an explosion…”

“Drug overdose,” suggests BoJack grimly. “Or alcohol poisoning. Drunk driving accident. Suicide, maybe.” He gives a hollow laugh. “I bet you’re gonna die first.”

_ He’s right.  _ “Wrong. You’re way older than me.”

“Yeah, but you’re a heavier user.” He finishes his bottle. “Then again, who knows? My whole life’s gone to shit lately.”

_ Oh, there was a point before it went to shit? Must be nice.  _ “Hmm?”

“Herb and I are in a fight.”

“Oof.”  _ See? There are people out there with real problems and you’re out here doing drugs all the time, because what? Because you had the amazing luck to be cast in a sitcom as a kid and then be a famous pop star, and you’re super rich and everyone loves you?!  _ **_That’s_ ** _ the big tragedy that makes you so depressed?! _

“There’s this kid everyone thinks is my daughter. He’s convinced I cheated on him in 1999 to conceive her, but I didn’t.”

“Why don’t you just lie and say you did?” she asks carelessly. “It would get it all over with quickly.”

He shakes his head adamantly. “I can’t do that.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Dude, is that really the hill you want to die on?”

“Is it really the hill he wants to kill me on?” He drinks another sip of his drink. “I just hope one of these days he gets his head out of his no-longer-cancerous ass.” Another sip. “But does it really matter? I mean, we’re all gonna die eventually.”

“I have  _ no  _ idea what you’re on about, but … big mood.” 

_ Heh, maybe he and Herb will break up and you’ll be able to have sex with BoJack. _

_...Did you actually just think that?! Bitchy slut. _

_ That’s all you’re ever gonna be good for, you know? Most of your fans ran off to find the next sexy thing as soon as you turned thirty because they only like you for your body. That’s all anyone’s ever liked you for, because you’re fun to bang or fun to think about banging. Even back when you were a kid that’s probably the only reason they liked you, why else would Sabrina be so popular? _

BoJack finishes his bottle. “Well, I’m pretty shitfaced. I think it’s time for my daily mental breakdown.”

“Oof. I normally have mine late at night.”

“I’d love to, but Herb wants me home in time for dinner. Which is totally bullshit.” He stands up. “See you later.”

He walks off. Her face falls.  _ Aaaand you’re alone again. _

_ Wow, are you seriously upset because BoJack Freaking Horseman finished a conversation? Jeez, talk about needy. Just because he’s the only person who  _ **_gets_ ** _ you doesn’t mean you’ve gotta hang out with him. _

He’s famous, though. There are some things only famous people can understand.

_ Everybody loves you, but nobody likes you. _

* * *

_ Bitch. _

She takes a deep breath, and opens the door.

_ You edgy, ugly, whiny bitch. _

BoJack Horseman stares at her. “Hi ,Diane.”

_ Oh God what does he want?  _ “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to hang out with you.”  _ Bullshit. Nobody ever just wants to hang out with you.  _ “Can we go up to the roof?”

“...Yeah, sure, I guess.” She leads him up to the roof. “So what do you want?”  _ Wow, talk about rude.  _

“Nothing.”  _ He’s lying. Nobody ever wants to talk to you unless you want something because you’re a whiny bitch and nobody likes hanging out with you.  _ “Just…”  _ See? Here we go.  _ “I’ve been a little stressed lately.” He pauses. “Very stressed.” Another pause. “I can’t take any more bullshit and I think I’m going to die.”

_ Oh my God, here we go again. More trademarked BoJack Horseman bullshit. Why are you still friends with this guy? Oh, right, it’s because you’re no better than him and you deserve worse, so get off your goddamned high horse. No pun intended.  _ “Talk to me.”

“Herb and I are having a  _ huge  _ spat right now.”

“Is that why you kept asking me to crash here?”

“Yeah.” He sighs. “I feel like everything’s falling apart, you know?”

“Oh, I know the feeling.”  _ Great, now you’re making this about you and your own petty issues.  _ “I’ve been so stressed with Mr. Peanutbutter’s campaign.”

“No offense, but  _ why  _ does he think he’s gonna be governor of California?”

“Not a clue.”  _ And now you’re talking shit about your husband. This is great. My God, you are  _ **_such_ ** _ a whiny bitch.  _

“I just don’t know what to do.” He leans back against a conveniently-placed wall. “I don’t know how to stop the fight and I can’t keep going like this. I just can’t cope with this.”

“Have you tried therapy?” she suggests.  _ Great, way to call your friend crazy. Is that ableist?  _

“What, spending a goddamn hour talking about myself to a complete stranger, who then has to pretend she’s not already sick of my bullshit and try and help me when everyone knows I was just born broken?” He scoffs. “I’ll pass.”

“That’s not what therapy is.”  _ Yes it is.  _ “I’ve been seeing a therapist for years, and it’s really helped me.”  _ No it hasn’t. You haven’t made any  _ **_real_ ** _ progress. All you’ve done is learned to not have panic attacks, that’s useless when you’re still a whiny bitch that’s incapable of ever being satisfied. You’re just a pit that good things fall into. _

“Therapy won’t  _ help  _ me,” he insists stubbornly. “Nobody can help me, I don’t think. I’m just  _ broken.” _

_ And so are you.  _ “Well, I don’t know how to help you.” She lights a cigarette. “You’re always saying that you want to change but don’t know how. I’m telling you how now: Go to therapy.”

“I’ll pass.” He waves a hand dismissively. “When I want to just go on a long rant about how unhappy I am, I just call my friends or a newspaper company.”

She blinks. “What?”

“Long story.” He sighs. “What can I do about Herb?”

“I dunno,” she answers, letting out a puff of cigarette smoke. “What’s going on?”

He freezes.  _ Congrats, Diane, now you made your friend uncomfortable. 'What’s going on??' Who thinks it’s okay to ask that when someone’s fighting with their husband?!  _ “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Well, uh…” She sighs. “Sometimes when I’m fighting with Mr. Peanutbutter, I try to get the whole thing over with quickly by just …  _ giving up.  _ Like, I just pretend I agree with him and shut up about it. Sometimes when you’re fighting with people you love, you’ve gotta ask yourself, ‘is this really the hill I want to die on?’”

He glares. “Is this really the hill he wants to kill me on?”

_ Oh wow, that’s actually pretty deep. Are you getting out-deeped by BoJack Horseman, of all people? Or maybe he just has common sense and you’re a coward and a pushover and a whiny bitch. _

_ How can you be a pushover  _ **_and_ ** _ a whiny bitch? _

_ Well, you’re also apparently a virgin slut, so maybe don’t question it, you whiny, bitchy pushover. _

“Well, I don’t even know what the problem is, so I can’t really give you advice. But, uh… Good luck.”

“Thanks.” He glances up at the sky, which is changing hue with sunset.  _ Have you done  _ **_anything_ ** _ productive today? Oh God, you’ve wasted the whole day feeling sorry for yourself  _ **_again._ ** “I, uh, I guess I’d better go home now.”

“You can go,” she mutters. “I’ll stay up here a little longer.”  _ To feel sorry for yourself. Because that’s all you know how to do. _

“Okay.” He goes back down.

_ Thank God. Why does he always think it’s appropriate to dump all his problems on you because he’s too stubborn to go to therapy? _

_ Oh, get over yourself. You’re never happy, are you? Your parents gave you a home and food for eighteen years even though you were a bitch, and all you did to show your gratitude was move out and blame them for all your problems. You’ve got a rich husband who loves you and you’re just looking for flaws. You’ve got friends who put up with you and all you can think about is how he could maybe be a little more perfect when he’s dealing with his own shit. _

She smokes her cigarette and watches the sunset.

_ You blame everyone else for your problems, but you’re the one constant here. _

* * *

_ Kid. _

She grabs Herb’s keys from the bench and opens the door.

_ Ungrateful little kid. _

“Thanks,” mutters BoJack ungratefully, before stumbling past her.

_ Oh, so  _ **_he’s_ ** _ being ungrateful now? You had eight dads who loved you and that wasn’t good enough for you, so you went all the way to California to ruin a marriage. Great job. All you did was open a door for him, but I guess you think that deserves a thanks because you’re entitled, huh? _

BoJack runs outside to sit at the pool deck.  _ He hates you. _

_ Of  _ **_course_ ** _ he hates you! You’re just this annoying, dorky seventeen-year-old that showed up at his door one day out of nowhere, nagged him into getting a DNA test, and now his marriage is falling apart because of you. _

Herb walks into the kitchen. “Oh.” He looks out the window and sees BoJack. “When did he get home?”

“Just now,” she answers.

Herb grabs a glass of water for himself.

She frowns. “Maybe you should go talk to him.”

“Why? Getting angry at him all over again won’t help anything.”

“No, I mean…”  _ What are you doing? You barely know BoJack and Herb’s been married to him for decades, why are you trying to tell him what to do?  _ “He looks upset.”

Herb looks out the window again. “...Yeah. He does.” He sighs. “But what can we do? This isn’t going to get better until he and I can have a serious conversation and he’s not even at the point of admitting it’s happening yet.” He gulps down a glass of water. “I’m gonna go do some reading. Let me know if you need anything.”

_ He hates you. _

She groans at her own thoughts.  _ What, so anyone who exits a conversation with you must hate you? It couldn’t possibly be that he just got up to get a drink and now he wants to go back to what he was doing? Wow, you’re entitled. _

_...He  _ **_does_ ** _ hate you though. Why wouldn’t he?! You just popped up one day and started ruining his marriage because eight loving dads apparently isn’t good enough for you. Plus, you’re super annoying, you’re a huge nerd, except you’re not even really a nerd because you’re not smart enough, you’re just, like, a fake gamer girl who’s good at math. _

_ Are you  _ **_actually_ ** _ even good at math, or are you just slightly better than all your classmates and you’ve managed to convince yourself you’re some kind of super genius. _

She gulps.

_ I mean, everyone at school hates you, so is it that much of a stretch to assume the random couple you’re hurting do as well? They act nice to you because they feel obligated to. Especially Herb. Herb’s a good person, so he acts genuinely loving toward you even though you’re awful to be around.  _

_...Oh God, what if your dads secretly hate you too? _

She looks out the window. BoJack is repeatedly lighting matches, then throwing them into the pool. Huh. That’s weird.

_ Oh, quit trying to distract yourself. You know if you didn’t listen to that little voice in the back of your head, you’d just be a narcissistic bully. And you’re already an ungrateful little kid, do you really want to make things worse. _

She shakes her head.

_ Pay attention! _

She goes outside.

**_Hey, everybody hates you! And they’re not wrong to feel that way!_ **

She takes a deep breath, and sits down next to BoJack. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he replies, throwing another match into the pool.

“Why are you doing that?”

“I dunno.” He frowns. “Hey, Hollyhock?”

“Yeah?”

“...When I go off doing stupid shit all day, you know that’s not your fault, right?” he asks cautiously. “I mean, I’m just upset because of Herb, but I don’t want you to blame yourself.”

“I don’t blame myself,” she lies, avoiding eye contact. After a pause, she adds, “I blame you a little.”

BoJack grimaces. “Please don’t.”

“Sorry, it’s just, I mean, I  _ want  _ to assume good faith here, but -- we  _ are  _ related. The DNA test proved that. So you  _ must  _ have cheated on him, and -- and I could get out of your hair and you two could stop fighting if you just admitted it.” She frowns. “Is this really the hill you want to die on?”

“Is this really the hill he wants to kill me on?” he counters.

She forces a chuckle. “I don’t think so,” she muses. “I mean, I know he’s really mad at you, but feel like -- he wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you, you know? You’re actually in a fight right now, but you still love each other.” She looks at him. “You do know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” His face falls. “I mean, I know, but I don’t always  _ know,  _ you know?” He throws another match into the pool. “It’s like, I’ve always got this little voice in the back of my head that just goes, ‘Hey, you’re a stupid piece of shit! And also you’re fat!’.”

Hollyhock’s face falls. “...Yeah.”

“That voice… that’s just because I  _ am  _ a stupid piece of shit, and also fat, right?” He looks at her anxiously. “Like, that’s just a thing that happens because I’m punishing myself for being such an asshole, but it doesn’t happen to other people?”

Hollyhock hesitates.

“It’s just a  _ me  _ thing, right?”

“...Yeah.” She forces a small smile. “Just a BoJack thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just to be 100% clear, the moral/theme of this chapter isn't supposed to be "everyone has a Stupid Piece Of Sh*t-style voice in their head telling them how worthless they are" or "it's normal to have constant intrusive self-hating thoughts and you shouldn't seek help to stop them", because it is absolutely not normal and anyone dealing with these thoughts should absolutely reach out and seek help. instead, the theme of this chapter is meant to be a commentary on how easy it is to be so wrapped up in your own stresses that you don't realise the people around you are struggling, which is going to be a recurring theme of this fanfic moving forward. (also for those who are curious, we will get a stupid piece of sh*t-style chapter from bojack's POV later on in the fic - im not 100% sure at the moment but it's probably going to be chapter 8)
> 
> (also also: poseidon powder is apparently legit slang for cocaine, but i found this out from a youtube video about spongebob and the strongest drug ive ever taken is panadol and i dont even live in america so please suspend your disbelief if it would be unrealistic for sarah lynn to know it but bojack to have no idea, i just used it because i thought it would be clever to have a nod to poseidon because of how emily owns the ocean in this fic)


	7. Stop The Presses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BoJack calls the L.A. Gazette to get free therapy.

As usual, he’s initially redirected to that whiny twentysomething with a scratchy voice and a series of annoying attempts to get him to hang up. “Sir, you cannot keep calling this line for free therapy. We are a newspaper company. Nobody here is qualified to give you therapy.”

“Yeah, can you just get me talking to the closer?”

With an irritated sigh, the kid speaks to someone else. “Uh, Michelle? Yeah, it’s -- it’s the horse guy that keeps calling us for free therapy. Yes, I tried to explain to him that it’s irresponsible at best to call the _L.A. Gazette_ and demand free therapy. ...Okay.” He speaks to BoJack again. “The closer will be here in a minute.”

He paces around for a few moments, sparing anxious glances through the windows and at the closed door, making sure Herb couldn’t be listening from inside. At last, the closer answers. “Hello, BoJack.”

He breathes a sigh of relief. “Hey.”

“I’d like to remind you that the best treatment for your various traumas and mental illnesses is to attend therapy with a trained medical professional. I legally cannot give you psychological advice.”

“I _know,”_ he moans. “Can we just get on with it?”

“Sorry,” she says in a voice that makes her seem not at all sorry. “I’m legally required to remind you that I am not a medical professional and I cannot give you therapy. Since you seem to be continually forgetting, or more likely willingly ignoring, this fact.”

“Whatever.” He starts pacing around in front of his house. “So, Herb and I are still fighting. Nothing’s changed there.”

“And Hollyhock is still living with you?”

“Yeah, but she’s been really … _weird_ lately, you know? Some days she basically forces us to hang out like everything’s fine and other days she just goes along with whatever whacky schemes Todd and Poseidon come up with.”

“...Poseidon?”

His eyes widen in realisation. “Oh yeah, that’s our nickname for Todd’s girlfriend, Emily. We call her that since she legally owns the ocean.”

* * *

BoJack took the text messages and placed them in the large bucket of things that he ignores in the hope that they’ll go away. He put his phone on silent and finally turned his attention back to Todd and Emily. Todd was on his phone, but he looked up when he noticed that he was done reading the messages. “Hey, can one of you buy me something on eBay? I’m broke.”

BoJack narrowed his eyes. “What is it?”

“The ocean.”

He blinked. “What, the actual ocean?”

“Well, technically it’s a legal document stating that you have ownership of the ocean, but yeah, the ocean.”

“Someone’s selling the ocean on eBay?” He stared at his phone. “How much is it?”

“Uh, the actual _ocean_ is five bucks, but the shipping is seven hundred dollars.”

 _“Shipping?!”_ he choked. “It’s the _ocean!_ Are you seriously going to be shipping the ocean here?!” He groaned. 

“Send me the link and I’ll buy it,” said Emily. He sent her the link and she completed the transaction. “Well, I now legally own the ocean. That seems like a whole thing.”

* * *

“So, yeah, we all jokingly call her Poseidon now.” He frowns. “That reminds me, I’m kinda thirsty but if I go inside someone might ask who I’m talking to. Can you get me a glass of water?”

“...Sure,” responds the closer. “Johnny will get that to you in three, two, one…”

A drone appears above his head carrying a glass of water. He carelessly downs the water and then throws the glass to the ground, where it shatters. There’s a little nagging voice in the back of his head telling him he should put the pieces somewhere, so he puts them in the large bucket of things that he ignores in the hope that they’ll go away, and that seems to solve the problem.

“So I have to ask,” continues the closer. “Why did Emily buy the ocean on eBay?”

“It was for their underwater basketball idea.”

“...Sorry, what?”

* * *

He proudly held up a basketball. “Has this ever happened to you?”

He passed it back and forward with Emily a few times before ‘accidentally’ throwing it into the pool. “Oh, man,” said Emily in exaggerated frustration. “I can swim, I’ll go get it.” 

She removed her sweater and lowered her body into the pool, and re-surfaced a few seconds later to toss the ball back to Todd and climb out. She pouted. “Oh, but now that I’ve been in the water, I feel like swimming! But I still want to finish my game of basketball.”

Todd dramatically moved his hands to his cheeks. “What if there was a way to swim _and_ play basketball?”

There was a long, painful silence.

“That has never happened to me,” said Hollyhock.

“I don’t think that’s ever happened to anyone,” said BoJack.

“And I told you guys not to play basketball near the house,” said Herb. “You nearly broke a window last time.”

Todd ignored them. “Well, with our great new _Underwater Basketball_ idea, you can play basketball _and_ swim, whenever you want!”

“Cool,” said BoJack, in a tone that very clearly communicated that it was not cool. “Is this pitch over yet?”

* * *

The closer clears her throat. “Well, how have Todd and Emily been doing with their underwater basketball project?”

“I don’t know,” he answers. “I haven’t heard about it in a while, but I’m pretty sure they abandoned it as soon as they thought of a reverse superbowl.”

“What’s a reverse superbowl?”

“That’s what I said.”

* * *

He raised an eyebrow. “What’s a reverse superbowl?”

Hollyhock shook her head. “That’s what I said.”

* * *

She raised an eyebrow. “What’s a reverse superbowl?”

Herb shook his head. “That’s what I said.”

* * *

Herb tilted his head in confusion. “What’s a reverse superbowl?”

Todd grinned, ready to launch into an explanation. “Okay, so you know how a superbowl is a long football game with a short concert in the middle?”

“...Yes?”

“Well, our idea is a long concert, but during halftime, instead of everyone actually getting a _break_ so they can eat and go to the toilet, they have to watch a short football game!”

* * *

“You could have just explained what a reverse superbowl is without telling me that entire story.”

“Yeah, well…” He waves a hand dismissively. “If I had to listen to that entire story, then so did you.”

“I’ve noticed that you often go into an unnecessary amount of detail about Todd’s latest schemes when you don’t want to admit your original reason for calling me,” she says cautiously. “I believe you were talking about your potential daughter Hollyhock, before we got sidetracked talking about Emily’s ownership of the ocean?”

“...Yeah.” He grimaces. “I sort of think she’s blaming herself for everything that’s been going on.”

* * *

She frowned at the full plate. “Hey, BoJack, are you gonna eat this?”

BoJack poured some alcohol into his coffee cup. “Sorry, no, I was gonna grab something on the way.”

Herb raised an eyebrow. “On the way _where?”_

“I’m heading to Sarah Lynn’s house to do cocaine. It’s gonna be _great.”_ He downed his drink.

Hollyhock’s frown deepened. She nudged BoJack’s plate with a fork. “Am I just bad at cooking, or … ?”

BoJack froze. “Hollyhock, you _know_ it’s just because…” He gestured vaguely toward Herb. Herb gestured vaguely toward the kitchen. “...Yeah. That’s it.”

She sighed. “Yeah, I know.” She stood up. “Don’t you wanna at least, I dunno, put it in the fridge for later or something? You could take it to Sarah Lynn’s house and then you’d save money by not having to buy something on the way.”

“Save money? I’m literally a millionaire.” He sighed. “Yeah, sure, put it in the fridge, but I gotta head off now. See you tonight.”

* * *

He continues to pace around outside his house. “And the thing is, it really _sucks,_ because I actually _care_ about Hollyhock, you know? Like, I mean, I’m an _asshole._ When shit hits the fan, I always put Herb first, myself second, and everyone else can go shove a cactus up their ass. But with Hollyhock, I feel like if something bad happens, I’ll have to make sure she’s okay, too.”

“It’s normal to care about people,” says the closer. 

“Oh, yeah, I know that,” he explains. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, when Diane’s going through some shit, I want her to be okay. But if I had to choose, it’s me over her, okay? With Hollyhock it’s not like that. Which is why I hate that she’s blaming herself for all this.”

“Have you tried explaining that it _isn’t_ her fault?” suggests the closer. “Or, better yet, you could have a serious discussion with Herb and try to stop fighting.”

He pouts and kicks a stray rock. “I can’t do anything until he gets his head out of his ass and accepts that I didn’t cheat on him in 1999.”

“You need to try and look at things from his perspective,” she insists. “How would you feel if you had tangible evidence that Herb had cheated on you, but he refused to admit it? It might be best for you to start the conversation by considering possible explanations for Hollyhock’s conception -- like, perhaps you were drunk at the time, explaining why you have no recollection of the event?”

He shakes his head stubbornly. “If I fix this, then that would mean that I _could_ have fixed this the whole time and I’ve just been letting us both suffer for no good reason. So now it’s on Herb.”

“That’s a psychological phenomenon known as the sunk cost fallacy,” she explains. “It’s part of why so many people continue gambling after losing most of their money -- they’re determined to continue an unhelpful behaviour, even if it causes a net loss, so that they can feel that their previous losses are worth something. It often causes more harm than good.”

“Yeah, well…” He sighs. “There’s, uh, there’s something else. A couple months back, I had to meet up with Joelle to film an episode of the show _Ethan Around._ After we finished filming, she and I went outside together for a smoke and some fresh air.”

* * *

She frowned. “So wait, if you just _ignore_ it when you’re angry at each other, what have you done before now? Like, have you seriously not had a _single_ fight in the last twenty-four years?”

BoJack grimaced. “I mean, we _have,_ but -- I don’t want to talk about it.”

She pouted. “What, not even _one_ story?”

Rubbing the back of his neck nervously, he forced a nervous smile, and made a promise that he _knows_ won’t be enforced, because as Sarah Lynn said, _Ethan Around_ is a complete _shitshow._ “...Maybe I’ll tell you next episode.”

“Yeah, as if. This show is _awful.”_ She frowned. “I don’t suppose I could borrow a cigarette? I’m trying to quit, but…”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I can really see that you’re trying.” He handed her a cigarette and a lighter, and she lit it and started to breathe in the smoke.

He sighed. “You know, I kinda hate myself.”

“Well, yeah, makes sense.” She breathed out a puff of cigarette smoke. “I think I’d hate myself, if I were you.”

He frowned. “Do you hate me?”

“No.” She fidgeted with the cigarette in her fingers. “But, I can’t say I like you much, either. You did spend some of my formative years stumbling around drunkenly and yelling about inane things.”

“I did? I don’t really remember the 90s.”

“Of course you don’t.” She looked up at him. “There was this one time, in 1992, I think. My mom got me this toy frog for my birthday, and I brought it on set. Bradley and Sarah _loved_ it. And then there was this scene where I had to talk to Sabrina, so I left it with you while we filmed it, and you broke it because you were drunk.” She frowned. “Do you remember that?”

“Nope.”

“Huh.”

He leant back against a wall. “I’m a mess.”

“As usual.”

“I’m serious.” He gulped. “I feel like -- Have you ever drunk _way_ too much, and woken up with a _huge_ hangover, and thought to yourself, ‘Wow, I wish I could break my arm right now to take my mind off my headache’?” He grinds the remains of his cigarette into the pavement. “I feel like that’s my mental state right now.”

“That’s a pretty stupid way to think.”

“I just need to be in control of _something._ Something tangible. I need to know that even when the rest of my life is falling apart because I’m a fat asshole and a stupid piece of shit, there’s _something_ that I have control over.” He looked at her with wide, pleading eyes. “Can you help me?”

Joelle hesitated. “I mean, I think I could. But it would probably harm more than it would help.”

* * *

“And then you had sex?”

His eyes widen. “What? No!” He starts pacing around again. “Why would you assume that?!”

“Sorry. It’s just that usually when you tell a story like that involving a woman, it ends with you saying you had sex with her and refusing to elaborate on how that ended up happening.”

He narrows his eyes. “When have I _ever_ done that?”

* * *

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “So, yeah, I just happened to run into her after a shooting.”

* * *

He leaned against a wall, staring at her quizzically. “You didn’t seem to like the show much.”

She grimaced. “Yeah, I’m only here because my brother made the whole thing and he said I _had_ to come see a shooting while I was in L.A.” She rolled her eyes. “Asshole.”

His eyes widened. “You’re Herb’s sister?” At her nod, he added, “Wow, you’re tall.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“I dunno, I just expected you to be shorter than him.”

“Really?” She tilted her head. “Because I’ve seen him with his friends and he _always_ talks about how his sisters are taller than him.”

“Yeah, probably, but I didn’t listen. I usually don’t listen when people talk to me.” He checked the time on his watch. “So what is _up_ with your last name? Seriously, one Z is plenty. Two is pushing it. Three…” He shudders. “You guys are _crazy.”_

* * *

“And then we had sex,” BoJack finished, blind to the closer’s confusion. “And now she’s my sister-in-law.”

* * *

“...Huh.” He frowns. “That was just one time, though.”

The closer proceeds to list three more times when this happened, and BoJack’s frown deepens. “Huh.” He shakes his head. “Well, anyway, I didn’t have sex with Joelle.”

“Then how did she attempt to ‘help’ you?” 

“...”

* * *

Herb finished brunch quickly and then went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. BoJack was already there, and he jumped when Herb entered, waving his toothbrush defensively. “What are you doing here?!”

“Brushing my teeth,” snarled Herb. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“...” BoJack stared down at the toothbrush in his hand. “...Also brushing my teeth.”

“Well, brush them, then.” He then proceeded to grab the toothpaste before BoJack could and --

* * *

“No. Stop.” The closer sounds annoyed.

He tilts his head, confused. "Stop what?"

“You need to stop answering all of my questions with a long story about your life.”

He pouts. “Why not? It really makes it easier to understand what was going through my head if I recite every conversation word-for-word.”

“No, it doesn’t.” She pauses. “Are you deliberately telling long stories about your own life rather than communicating clearly about your problems because it’s easier for you to explain what’s causing you distress indirectly than it is to actually explain what’s bothering you?”

He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I dunno, maybe it’s just that I’m bad at communicating.”

“Well, let’s try to communicate, then. I’m going to ask you some questions, and I need you to _not_ answer them by telling me a long story about your own life.”

He sighs. “Okay.”

“Were you actually brushing your teeth prior to Herb’s entrance, or were you hiding something, which caused your defensive reaction?”

He gulps. “I was hiding something.”

“What were you hiding?”

“...Did I finish telling you about the reverse superbowl?” he asks anxiously.

“I believe you did.”

“Well -- did I tell you about why I’m letting them plan it in my house?”

“Because you often indulge Todd in his --”

“I felt guilty,” he blurts. “I’m letting Todd and Emily do whatever they want right now because I feel guilty.”

There’s a long, painful silence.

“Aren’t you gonna ask _why_ I felt guilty?”

* * *

There wasn’t much else to say. He said more anyway. “Well, why _can’t_ you accept that? I mean, you can date him without banging, can’t you?”

“I don’t _want_ to,” Emily protested. “I mean, I can go a couple weeks, maybe even months, but -- long-term? I don’t want to just never have sex again.”

“Well, that sucks.” The car came to a screeching halt outside her house. “Wish I knew how to help you, but as you know, I’m having my own relationship issues.”

“Yeah.” She grimaced. “I’m really sorry about you and Herb.”

“Eh, not your fault.” He sighed. “Still, though, it’s just -- it makes you wish life was like a sitcom, you know? Like, it would be so great if all of this could be fixed in twenty-two _hilarious_ minutes.”

Emily chuckled. “I mean, you just spent twenty minutes driving me, so if you think you can fix this in twenty-two hilarious minutes, you’d better think fast.” She laughed. “I mean, what could you _possibly_ do in two minutes?”

* * *

“And then we had sex,” he finishes.

“...In two minutes?”

“Hey, don’t kinkshame me.”

“I would never kinkshame you, but I do believe that you should feel some shame in relation to that kink. I mean, only two minutes, from the end of that conversation to the end of your time with Emily that day? You would have had to get out of the car, go inside, lock the door, get undressed, have sex, get dressed, and say goodbye in only two minutes. The actual _sex_ can’t have been much more than thirty seconds even if you rushed everything else.”

“Ugh, stop getting sidetracked.” Ignoring the hypocrisy, he continues. “So yeah, if you’re such a therapist, can’t you explain why I did _that?”_

“I am not a therapist. A therapist is a trained medical professional who can process complex emotions and trauma. I am just an employee at the newspaper you keep calling to vent about your problems to.” She takes a deep breath. “However…”

“Here we go.”

“During your childhood, you learned to associate being falsely accused with a loss of autonomy and a traumatic punishment. When your parents were angry at you for something that was your fault, you _felt_ like you were in control of it, because you were sure you could avoid a punishment by improving your behaviour in the future. Conversely, when your parents falsely blamed you for something that wasn’t your fault, you felt that it was just because you were _you;_ because you were somehow defective or broken. So, from a young age, you learned that if somebody is upset with you for no reason, your best option is to _create_ a reason. Then, you can tell yourself, it’s not you, it’s that bad thing you did.”

He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I dunno, man. Can’t it just be because I’m a stupid asshole?”

“I highly doubt that.” She clears her throat. “Your anxiety demands that you attempt to be in control of every situation, even if the only way to achieve that is through self-sabotage, because you’ve learned to associate a feeling of things being ‘out of control’ with trauma. What you need to realise is that you are _never_ in control, because the whole _idea_ of control is a myth. The world is full of near-infinite variables, and no one person could possibly account for all of them in order to be aware of any possible threat.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, sure, _some_ things are out of control, but that doesn’t mean the whole _idea_ of control is bullshit. I mean -- here, listen to this. Herb does this utterly _stupid_ thing when he’s stressed. He sits down at his laptop, and he writes -- and you will not _believe_ this -- he writes _fanfiction._ An actual fifty-six-year-old man, writing shitty fanfiction! And then, like that’s not weird enough, he goes and he _prints it out,_ so he has proof that he’s done _something_ that ‘adds a little good to the world’. _Such_ bullshit.”

“That actually sounds like a healthy coping method,” says the closer. “You can never really be in control of your life, but you can be in control of yourself and the things you do. Making a tangible difference in your environment can be helpful when your life feels chaotic and out of control -- it tricks your brain into thinking you have control, so you don’t have to spend every second of the day obsessing over thousands of variables that you can’t do anything about.”

“...Yeah,” says BoJack after a long pause. “I, uh, I can get that. You know, wanting to see _some_ progress so you don’t have to feel like everything’s just falling apart on you.” He clears his throat. “I’ve, uh, I’ve actually been trying something like that. I’m trying to lose weight at the moment.”

“Really?” She sounds a little surprised. “How are you doing that?”

“Oh, uh, the usual. You know, exercising more, eating a bunch of vegetables, and, uh, yeah, none of that stuff I just said was true, I think I have a problem.”

* * *

“Well, brush them, then.” He then proceeded to grab the toothpaste before BoJack could and start brushing his teeth first, out of some petty desire to _win_ some nonexistent tooth-brushing race. 

BoJack watched him anxiously until he finally spat out his toothpaste, rinsed off his toothbrush, and took a deep breath. “You know,” he muttered, and BoJack groaned internally. “We could have had this entire thing dealt with _ages_ ago if you’d just told me who Hollyhock’s mom was.”

BoJack froze. “Look, I don’t know _what_ Hollyhock’s deal is, but I am _not_ her dad. I _never_ cheated on you in 1999.”

He looked BoJack dead in the eye. “Is this really the hill you want to die on?”

“Is this really the hill you want to kill me on?” countered BoJack.

Herb sighed. “So which one of us is going to find a paper-thin excuse to leave the house rather than deal with our problems today?”

“I was planning on going out for a few drinks.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“No.”

“Well, have fun. And, uh, stay safe.” He left the room, presumably going back to the kitchen. BoJack hesitated, then locked the door shut.

He leaned on the sink, staring at his reflection. “Okay, BJ. You got this.” He took a few deep breaths, and ran a hand through his mane. His hands shook -- anxiety? Too much coffee? Hard to say. Both, probably. Maybe he needed some alcohol to even it out.

_That is the last thing you need, you stupid piece of shit._

Still shaking, he rinsed off his toothbrush one more time, trying to run his fingers along the bristles for a more thorough clean but unable to make much progress because he was still trembling so badly. Then, he slowly turned the tap off, and took a few shaky steps away from the sink. He turned to face the toilet. In one swift motion, he shoved the toothbrush up his throat.

* * *

“...Did I say I have a problem?” He stumbles over his words in his rush to assure her that it’s _fine,_ that it’s _not that bad,_ that she doesn’t need to _snitch_ on him. He’s not entirely sure who she would _snitch_ to, or if such a thing is even applicable to this situation; he just knows that ever since the first time his high school called his parents to get him in trouble he’s had some vague, unmoving fear that he’s going to get _caught,_ that somebody’s going to _snitch._ “Because, I mean, it’s not a _problem-_ problem, it’s just, like -- it’s _nothing,_ I --”

“You’re starving yourself.” It’s not an accusation, nor a question; simply a declaration of fact.

“Well, I wouldn’t say _starving._ I’m actually eating a _lot._ I mean, I throw most of it up afterward, but I’m eating. I even lose my shit and eat all the food we have at two in the goddamn morning sometimes! Does _that_ sound like an eating disorder to you?”

“Yes.” He can hear the frown in her voice. “How did you feel when Herb almost walked in on you making yourself vomit?”

“Uh, how’d I _feel?_ I mostly just freaked out, y’know? Didn’t want to get _caught,_ heh.” He frowns. “The weird thing is, though, after he left I got this little voice in my head saying, ‘Congrats, you fooled him’, and I didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. I mean, I was relieved that I wouldn’t have to explain it to him, but I was also disappointed for some reason.”

“That’s because your formative experiences with love and problem-solving were all from watching sitcoms on television,” she explains. “You’ve learned that when a character has a problem, they have a heart-to-heart with another character about what’s bothering them, and then they hug and everything’s fine. That’s why you’re experiencing cognitive dissonance in regard to Herb finding out about your eating habits -- you want to have the part where he holds you and tells you everything will be okay, like on TV, but you don’t want the part after, where you have to actually _work_ to solve the problem.”

“Well, duh. Why would I want to ‘solve’ the ‘problem’?” He says this with air quotes, which she can’t see. This is fortunate, because if she saw the air quotes she would see the shaking of his hands. “This is actually _helping._ I feel like I’m finally in _control_ of something, you know?”

“You’re not in control. Control is a myth.”

“Bullshit. I could stop whenever I wanted, but this is _working!_ And it’s not even working too fast to be healthy. I mean, I only lost a pound last week, that’s normal.”

“BoJack--”

“Okay, you know what? You need to stop.” He paces around in front of his house. “I am _finally_ able to be in control of _one_ goddamned thing and you’re telling me to stop? No. My life is under control now. You know why I’m letting Emily and Todd do their stupid reverse superbowl thing here? It’s not because I’m guilty, it’s because I _know_ they’re never gonna turn it into anything real. You know how I know that? Because _I am in control._ And I am _not_ giving that up.”

He hangs up before she can protest and shoves his phone back in his pocket. When he goes back inside, Emily and Todd are in the living room, staring at a large sheet of paper covered in scrawled plans. Emily makes brief eye contact with him, then immediately looks away.

BoJack looks at Todd. “You two still working on the reverse superbowl idea?”

He shakes his head. “That is _so_ yesterday.”

“We’ve got a new idea,” explains Emily. “It’s called blindfolded charades.”

BoJack’s face falls. “...Huh.”


	8. That Went Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BoJack goes out for a few drinks.

_ Piece of shit. _

His eyes shoot open.

**_Fat_ ** _ piece of shit. _

He fumbles to remove his phone from where it was charging on his nightstand. The lock screen burns his eyes. He forces himself to stare at it anyway, so he can tell what time it is.

_ Yeah, so you can find out exactly how much of a screw-up you are today. _

It’s eight AM.

_ Wait, only eight? That’s actually pretty good. _

_ Eight AM is pretty good??? If you got off your lazy ass and got a job then you’d only have an hour to get ready for work now. But of course, your standards are so low you think you deserve some sort of reward for getting out of bed in the morning like a normal person. _

He has no notifications,  _ because nobody wants to talk to you, you piece of shit,  _ so he turns off his phone and leaves it on his nightstand as he stumbles out of bed. Hollyhock stares at him with wide eyes as he enters the kitchen,  _ because she’s used to you being a lazy asshole,  _ and Herb makes some crack about how he’s up early,  _ and he’s been living with you for decades so if he’s surprised then you really need to get your shit together. _

He prepares to make coffee,  _ because that’s all you get for breakfast after you sleep in,  _ and then pauses, frowning, because  _ you didn’t actually sleep in this time, you self-pitying asshole. _

_ Eight AM is still sleeping in, lazy asshole, it’s not self-pitying every time you don’t kiss your own ass. _

_ Yeah, but I normally sleep in way later than that. So by my standards it’s basically like getting up early, right?  _

_ Oh, get over yourself. What do you even want for breakfast, anyway? You can’t cook for shit and it’s messed up that you keep expecting your daughter/not-daughter/it’s complicated to make food for you. _

Todd nudges him in the ribs,  _ or he would if you finally lost enough weight to have ribs,  _ and grins. “Wakey wakey, lemon shakey!”

_ Huh, maybe you could sprinkle some sugar on a lemon. That’s a low-calorie snack, isn’t it? _

_...Wait, what? _

He raises an eyebrow. “Lemon shakey?”

“It’s just some  _ thing  _ Todd’s been saying in the mornings,” explains Hollyhock. “Which you would know if, you know, you were ever up.”

_ She can tell you’re a lazy asshole and a fat piece of shit. Way to go, idiot. You’re turning your own daughter/not-daughter/it’s complicated against you. _

“I was just about to make myself some breakfast,” says Todd. “Should I make some for you too?”

_ No. You’re saving calories so you can get drunk tonight, remember?  _

_ Wait, they’ll get suspicious if you keep not eating. Maybe just eat and then throw it up. How quick do you absorb food? Wait, shit, you’ll have to plan it all out or they’ll hear you. What’s Herb doing today? You could probably keep everyone else out of the bathroom for an hour or so by pretending to shower and -- _

_ Shit. When was the last time you showered? _

His eyes widen. He cautiously sniffs his armpits.  _ Too long. _

_ Okay, BoJack, think. When was the last time you showered? It’s, uh, it’s Tuesday now, isn’t it? When was the last time you generally  _ **_did_ ** _ anything, or left the house for reasons other than getting drunk?! _

_ Oh yeah, that was when you did cocaine with Sarah Lynn. Which was on the weekend. And you’re pretty sure it was a Saturday, because she dragged you through the mall afterward and basically everything was open and nothing’s open on Sundays. So, uh, Saturday night, then Sunday, then Monday -- that’s only three and a half days, that’s not that bad, and wait, shit, it was  _ **_last_ ** _ Saturday, you absolute train wreck of a person. _

“Can’t,” he mutters vaguely in answer. “Gotta shower.”

“You do,” agrees Hollyhock. “I didn’t wanna say anything, but -- yeah, you do.”

“Shut up.”  _ Great, way to be rude to your daughter/not-daughter/it’s complicated.  _ “I don’t smell  _ that  _ bad.”

Hollyhock exchanges a knowing look with Todd and Herb.  _ Oh my God. You dumpster fire of a person. Go shower. _

He storms into the bathroom and locks the door. Hesitantly, he turns the water on, and runs a hand under it.  _ Too hot.  _ He adjusts the temperature.  _ Now it’s goddamn lukewarm. Why does all plumbing work like this?! Who wants to choose between a boiling and a lukewarm shower?!  _ He uses one hand to fiddle with the stupid-ass heat and keeps the other under the flow of the water, and he stares at it because there’s nothing else to stare at, and  _ why the hell is your hand shaking, dumbass? _

_ You know, you’d probably lose weight faster if you took a cold shower. I mean, if you’re so pathetic that you start shaking for literally  _ **_no_ ** _ reason, then shivering is probably exercise to you.  _

He hesitates. The water’s still a little uncomfortably warm, but not too hot that he wouldn’t be able to just suck it up. 

_ Turn it down, asshole. _

He turns the temperature as cold as he can bear, gets undressed, and steps under the water.

Washing his mane is an absolute  _ ordeal,  _ because apparently you’re not meant to leave it more than a week, who could have guessed?  **_You_ ** _ could have guessed. You know you’re not meant to spend that long without showering, but you did it anyway, because you’re a lazy sack of shit. _

He can’t seem to actually get his mane  _ clean,  _ but he manages well enough to get the gunk out of it, so that he could in theory drag a brush through it without it constantly getting caught on a particularly stubborn knot. Once he’s fairly certain he looks and smells like something that  _ hasn’t  _ been dead and rotting in the back of a dumpster for the past week, he turns the water off.

God, it’s freezing.

_ Oh, get over yourself. You deserve it. You cheated on your husband, you fat sack of idiot, you deserve a little cold.  _

He wants to grab a towel and wrap himself in it for warmth, so he won’t be so  _ goddamn cold,  _ but instead he grabs a hairdryer and starts to blow the moisture out of his fur. He indulges a little by having the settings on hot,  _ because you’re a selfish bastard,  _ but it doesn’t help, because feeling the warmth on one part of his body just makes him  _ crave  _ to feel it everywhere. Finally, he manages to dry his fur and mane.

He takes a deep breath, avoiding the mirror, and steps on the scale. Down half a pound from yesterday. Pretty consistent. Maybe he should slow down a little, though. Maybe just over three pounds a week is too fast.

_ Not fast enough. Can’t you do  _ **_anything_ ** _ right?! You can’t remember to shower once a week, you can’t talk to your husband or daughter/not-daughter/it’s complicated, you can’t even not cheat on your husband, could you at least get this  _ **_one_ ** _ thing done?! _

He wraps a towel around his waist and goes to his room to get dressed. He drags a brush through his mane, which still isn’t clean because apparently it causes problems if you don’t wash it for a week, who knew? He checks the time on his phone. It’s ten in the morning.

It’s a little too early to go to the pub without feeling pathetic,  _ which is stupid because everyone knows you’re already pathetic.  _ And he’s hungry. Breakfast. That should kill some time until he can go drinking.

_ But wait, if you wake up at ten, then that’s too late for breakfast and you just have to suck it up and wait until lunch, right? So waking up at eight and spending two hours in the shower should be the same.  _

_ That makes literally no sense. _

_ Yeah, but you’re gonna do it anyway, aren’t you? _

He goes to the kitchen to make himself some coffee, to tide him over until lunchtime, and pours it into a thermos. He didn’t make enough to fill up the whole thing, so he adds some vodka to even it out. He walks into the living room. Todd and Herb are sitting on the couch together.

“You will not  _ believe  _ this,” says Todd. “Emily cheated.”

BoJack’s heart skips a beat. Herb’s face falls. “Oh, I --”

“At UNO!” finishes Todd.

Herb stares at him. “Why did you --”

“Hey, it’s not my fault your mind was in the gutter.”

BoJack ignores them and unlocks the front door. “I’m going out for a few drinks.”

They stare at him.

“It’s ten in the morning,” says Herb.

“Hey, I don’t tell you how to live your life.” 

He drinks a gulp of coffee as he walks to the car, half of which ends up spilled all over his sweater. He drives to the nearest bar, goes to the counter, and grabs a bourbon.

The thing about going to a bar at ten in the morning is that it’s not  _ empty.  _ If it was, maybe, he could cope. But it’s not, it’s just less crowded, just harder to get lost in the crowd, and he can  _ tell  _ everyone’s staring at him. Just thinking about it gets him shaking from the anxiety, so he downs some more coffee to get him to stop shaking.

This, unsurprisingly, doesn’t work.

_ God damn you you stupid idiot. What are you doing with your life? You’ve got everything you could possibly ask for, you’re a famous rich actor with a husband who loves you, and this is what you’re doing?! It’s ten in the morning and you’re at a bar! Who does that?!  _ **_Who_ ** _ does that?” _

He finishes his drink.

_ And everyone’s probably staring at you right now. You look  _ **_disgusting._ ** _ You’re so  _ **_fat,_ ** _ and your mane still isn’t clean even though you spent way too long in the shower, and, oh, did I mention you’re at a bar? It’s ten in the morning. You’re pathetic. _

He finds himself running a hand through his mane and wishing he had a beanie or a hoodie to hide in. He knows that he’s gone out looking worse, and that if it looks like a mess now than it must have been downright  _ horrific  _ yesterday when he hadn’t showered in a week, but after realising how utterly he had failed at personal hygiene, he’s more acutely aware of his appearance. Just like how being reminded of bears causes him to suddenly notice how many of the passerby strangers in California just happen to be bears -- and it goes double when he remembers that most people mean the animal when they talk about bears -- it’s impossible not to think about how much of a  _ mess  _ he is when he thinks about how he just went an  _ actual goddamn week without showering. _

_ You complete train wreck. _

_ You can’t even shower like a normal person! How are you even alive? You’re fifty-three, how about you act like it, you fat piece of shit? Herb’s only three years older and you’re making him babysit you constantly, and the second he gets upset because you  _ **_cheated on him_ ** _ you turn into some self-pitying dumpster fire who’s too incompetent to shower. Is he your husband or just a father figure you can slide your dick into? _

He runs a self-conscious hand through his mane, glancing around the room to make sure nobody’s staring at him.  _ And your mane’s getting long. What is this, the 90s?! Of course you’re too incompetent to get a goddamn haircut.  _

His eyes linger on a woman with tattoos.

_...Speak of the devil. _

Which is a stupid thing to think, really, because if anyone’s the devil in this scenario it’s him. 

On instinct he stands up, abandoning his half-full thermos on the counter. He takes a few steps toward her. 

“...Sharona?”

She looks up at the mention of her name. It takes her a few moments to recognise him, but he can practically see the moment when it clicks. She scowls.

_ Why the hell did you say her name you fat sack of idiot!? Now she knows you’re here. _

They continue to stare at each other, Sharona furious, BoJack astonished. He backs away and ends up bruising his back when he runs into the counter. He feels around for his thermos, and he takes a long sip from it in the hope that the alcohol will take the edge off the presumably horrible conversation he’s about to have, but it’s more coffee than alcohol and the stimulants just add to his anxiety, telling him he needs to  _ leave,  _ leave  _ right now,  _ get the  _ hell away -- _

The next thing he knows, he’s in his car.

_ Oh my God what the hell is wrong with you?! If you’re going to get her fired, call her after because Herb told you to, tell her you’ll help her, and then not help her, and then not contact her for twenty years, could you at least not run off when you run into her?! Or, I dunno, run off  _ **_before_ ** _ you’ve caught her attention?! _

_ Coward. _

He pulls up in his driveway. He sits in the car, panting.

_ She was at a bar at ten AM. She’s still an alcoholic!  _ **_YOU’VE RUINED HER!_ ** _ You ruined her life!  _

_ Or maybe it’s not your fault. Maybe she was always going to be like this. Maybe alcoholics are just doomed by nature. _

He stares at the thermos full of vodka-coffee, at the stains on his sweater, at the empty glass bottled littered under his glovebox.  _ But  _ **_you’re_ ** _ an alcoholic. _

_ OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD-- _

He tries to take a deep breath.  _ Okay, BoJack, think. You need to calm down! Think positive. What are some positive thoughts? Uh, Mr. Peanutbutter’s pretty positive, maybe if you try thinking like him you’ll feel better. _

_ Hey, am I Sarah Lynn? Because I’ve been doomed ever since I signed onto Horsin’ Around, and I’m basically just destined to surround myself with sycophants and enablers until I die tragically young! _

_...Oh, so you think you’re  _ **_young_ ** _ now?! _

He sits there, hands still gripping the steering wheel, shaking. He checks the time on his phone -- half past eleven.  _ Great, it’s nearly lunchtime. You’ve wasted half the day. _

_ Hey, look on the bright side. You get to eat lunch today. _

He gets out of the car and power-walks inside. Emily and Todd are on the couch,  _ why didn’t Todd tell you she was coming over, now she’s looking at you all guilty, get out of here,  _ he rushes into the kitchen. He scans the fridge for food, but he has to  _ cook  _ all of it, he can’t cook, his hands are shaking too much, he’ll burn himself,  _ you deserve to burn yourself you fat piece of shit,  _ but he  _ can’t. _

He opens the freezer. Ice cream. You don’t have to cook ice cream.

_ Ice cream isn’t lunch, fatass. _

He grabs the tub and closes the freezer.

_ No. Don’t you dare. Do  _ **_not_ ** _ eat that ice cream for lunch. _

He yells every swear word under the sun and tears half of the kitchen apart in his search for a spoon, which turns out to be exactly where the spoons normally are, and then screams at the top of his lungs multiple times just trying to get the lid off. Herb pops his head into the kitchen to see what all the fuss is about at one point and BoJack snaps that he wants to be alone.

He shovels the goddamn ice cream into his mouth like a goddamn pig, and that little voice in his head keeps going,  _ this is junk food, this is not a meal, this has too many calories, you’re going to have to skip dinner to make up for this,  _ and he ignores it.

He eats more than he was planning to.

_ Great, now you’ve gone and erased all your progress because you were too lazy to cook, you fat sack of idiot. Stupid piece of shit.  _

He glances around at the house. Todd and Emily are still in the living room, their schemes apparently put on pause, staring at him apprehensively. Herb and Hollyhock are nowhere to be seen, presumably in their rooms.

_ You know what you have to do now, fatass. _

He ducks into the bathroom.

* * *

All it takes are a few simple words for him to freeze mid-sip, leaving his drink (only water now, because he’s too pathetic for anything else) to spill onto the floor. His heart skips several beats.

“Hey, BJ, can we go upstairs and chat?”

_ He hates you. He knows you had sex with Emily and now he hates you. Maybe he’s about to tell you to leave before you ruin Todd and Hollyhock like you ruin everyone else. You ruined Sharona. You’re ruining Herb. You ruined Emily. You’re going to ruin Hollyhock! What are you gonna do to her?!  _ **_What are you gonna do to her, asshole?!_ **

He stares at Herb apprehensively. “Are you mad at me?”

Herb hesitates. “I mean, generally, yeah. You  _ did  _ cheat on me and spend the last several months lying about it. But that’s not what I wanna talk about.”

_ He’s lying. He hates you. Of course he hates you. Who wouldn’t? _

He gulps, then nods, and lets Herb lead him to the bedroom. Herb sits on the bed, and gestures for him to do the same.

“Look, BJ, I know, uh, I know we’ve been fighting for a while, and I -- I wish we hadn’t let things get this far, but -- are you okay?” He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “You’ve been acting kinda weird lately.”

_ He’s onto you.  _ “Name  _ one  _ example of me acting weird.”

“Well, uh, you went out to get a few drinks at ten AM this morning. Then you came home weirdly early, spent fifteen minutes sitting in the driveway, and then came inside and started screaming about how you couldn’t find a spoon.”

“I know,” he snaps. “I was there.”

“I get that you’re stressed, but -- I promise, it’ll be better once you tell me who it was, you know? Rip the band-aid off. And, even if I’m mad at you, I still love you, okay?”

“Love you too,” he snarls.  _ “Buzz off.” _

Herb frowns. “BJ, you’re out of control.”

_ He’s right.  _ “Wrong!” He stands up suddenly, frustration reaching a peak. “I am in control of  _ everything  _ in my life right now, okay?! I could stop drinking  _ whenever I wanted --” _

“Nobody mentioned your drinking,” interrupts Herb, standing up. “Did something --”

“Okay, fine! I admit it!  _ I’m an alcoholic!”  _ Herb steps back in shock. “Are you happy now?! Twenty years and I finally admitted it! Because I am  _ just like Sharona  _ and I am a  _ lost cause  _ and if you had any sense you’d just give up on me now!”

Herb takes a deep breath before responding. “You’re not a lost cause. And neither is Sharona --”

“Wrong, dingus. I saw her today!” His voice rises to a shout. “She was at a bar, at ten in the goddamn morning, just like me, because  _ we are the same!  _ And she’s  _ doomed,  _ and it’s my fault, and  _ so am I!”  _ He’s left panting from the outburst. “Why don’t you hate me, Herb?”

“Because…”  _ He hesitated. That means he’s lying. He hates you.  _ “Because you’ve always been there for me even when other people haven’t been, and I know you can be an asshole sometimes but you’re  _ trying,  _ and you’ve been through so much shit but you never give up, and --”

_ “I’m giving up now.”  _ The words are out of his mouth before he has a chance to think of the implications. “Oh my God, screw this. I’m going out for a smoke.”

He storms out of the room. Herb runs after him.

“BJ, wait.”

“I need a cigarette.”

“BJ --” They’re in the living room by now. Hollyhock, Todd, and Emily are staring at them. “I don’t want to leave you alone after you said that.”

“Why not?!” He turns to face him, no longer caring what Hollyhock thinks. “What are you gonna do,  _ stop me from killing myself?” _

Heb is stunned into silence for several moments. By the time he manages to stutter out, “I mean, ideally I won’t have to, but if it comes to it --”, BoJack has already slammed the door and stomped outside.

There’s a long, painful silence.

“...Well,  _ that  _ went well,” jokes Herb. Nobody finds it very funny.

Hollyhock raises an eyebrow. “Did you seriously just reference  _ Ethan Around?” _

He frowns. “What’s wrong with  _ Ethan Around?” _

“It’s a bad TV show,” answers Todd. “They tried to make a remake of  _ Horsin’ Around,  _ starring the least popular character, with all the jokes being at the expense of social media. What  _ isn’t  _ wrong with it?”

Herb shoots him a defensive look. “Hey, Ethan was my favourite character.”

“...You gave the catchphrase ‘Yowza-bowza-bo-bowza’ to your favourite character?”

Herb doesn’t answer.

Hollyhock clears her throat. “Okay, is anyone else going to say it? Because I’m going to say it. BoJack needs to get his shit together. He’s been a  _ mess  _ today.”

“That’s a little harsh,” says Herb defensively. “...But you’re right.”

“I get that he’s upset and all, but does he have to throw huge tantrums and make it everyone else’s problem?”

“Is he even really  _ that  _ upset?” questions Emily. “This is just the consequences of his own actions. I mean, whoop-de-doo, you’re sad because you cheated on your husband. Cry me a table.”

Herb blinks. “Cry me a  _ what?” _

Emily opens her mouth to explain, but BoJack comes back in before she can. “See? Just went out for a smoke. No need to lose your shit.”

Herb stares at him. “You just yelled at me and threatened to kill yourself.”

“Yeah, I know.” He turns to exit the room. “I was there.”

Herb hesitates.

“...Do you wanna talk about it?”

He doesn’t look at Herb. “No.”


	9. People In Glass Houses Should Not Beat A Dead Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Todd and Emily pause their latest mixed metaphors idea to try and test if BoJack's telling the truth about his inability to cry; Hollyhock expresses her frustration with how little progress has been made in finding her mom.

She pours over the scrapbook full of half-written ideas, searching for any scrap of value, anything that can be salvaged into a functioning idea. At last, her eyes widen. “Oh, I’ve got something.”

Todd looks up. “What?”

She clears her throat.  _ “Somebody once told me the world is gonna roll me, I ain’t the sharpest egg in the attic.” _

“That’s  _ great!”  _ He rushes to write it down. 

Herb raises an eyebrow. “What’s the egg doing in the attic?”

“If I were you,” deadpans Hollyhock. “I’d be more concerned about the fact that the egg is sharp.”

“Well, I mean, you can always sharpen an egg.”

“... _ What?!” _

BoJack walks into the room, an open but mostly full bottle of vodka in hand. “What the  _ hell  _ are you crackheads on about?”

_ “We’re  _ crackheads?!” protests Hollyhock. “You’re already drinking and you literally  _ just  _ woke up.”

“Yeah, but it’s not crack, so…” He stares at Emily, and at Todd. “What was that about the  _ Shrek  _ song with the sharpest egg in the attic?”

“We’ve got this great new idea,” explains Todd. “Picture this:  _ malaphors.” _

He waits for elaboration. “Oh, that’s the whole idea.” He frowns. “What are malaphors?”

“Uh, mixed metaphors?” answers Emily, looking at him like he’s an idiot. “It’s not exactly rocket surgery.”

He groans. “It’s too early in the morning for this.”

“Oh, cry us a table.”

BoJack stiffens. “I don’t cry.”

Todd frowns, tilting his head. “Everyone cries sometimes.”

“Nope.” He stands up straight, seeming almost  _ proud  _ of his inability to cry. “Not me.”

Hollyhock opens her mouth to protest but Herb cuts her off. “Weirdly, I think he’s actually right. I have  _ never  _ seen him cry.”

“Nobody has,” BoJack continues to brag. “Not a  _ single  _ person has seen me cry since I was fourteen. I got sick of my parents being mad at me for it, so I just  _ stopped.” _

“That’s impossible,” Hollyhock insists.

“Yeah,” agrees Emily. “Like, you  _ never  _ cry? I mean, even if you  _ hypothetically  _ cheated on your partner, you wouldn’t cry sometimes when nobody’s looking because of how  _ guilty  _ you feel?”

“That does  _ not  _ sound hypothetical,” says Hollyhock.

BoJack ignores her. “Nope, I  _ don’t  _ cry. No matter  _ what.  _ Even if you kick me in the balls, I won’t cry. They had to change one of the scenes of  _ Secretariat  _ because of it.”

“So that’s why it was such a bad movie.” She chuckles. “Almost as bad as  _ Ethan Around.” _

“Hey,” says Herb defensively. “There’s nothing wrong with  _ Ethan Around!  _ Ethan was always my favourite character.”

“And you gave the catchphrase ‘Yowza-bowza-bo-bowza’ to your favourite character?”

“Hollyhock  _ does  _ have a point,” admits Todd, grimacing.  _ “Ethan Around  _ is kind of, you know… it’s a few screws short of a beehive.”

“Yeah,” says BoJack. He pauses. “Wait, what?”

_ “Malaphors,”  _ explains Emily, slowly and deliberately like she’s talking to a young child. “It’s not exactly a rocket in a haystack.”

“Ugh. I’m gonna go out for a couple drinks.” He turns to leave, then turns back, frowning. “Are you two gonna do that thing where you get into a bunch of whacky schemes to try and make me cry?”  
  
Todd smirks. “Is the bear catholic?”

“I mean, probably not. Catholic churches are notoriously homophobic.” 

Everyone stares at him.

“Sorry, wrong type of bear. Anyway, I’m out.”

Herb frowns. “Did you eat breakfast?”

“I had coffee, that’s basically a meal.”

“No it’s not. There’s omelettes in the kitchen if you --”

“No, sorry, not interested.” He’s out the door before anyone can protest.

“That’s BoJack for you,” jokes Todd. “You can’t lead a horse to water without breaking a few eggs.”

Emily’s eyes widen. “You can’t make an omelette without sharpening a few eggs.”

“You can’t make an omelette without sharpening a few eggs, but you can sharpen an awful lot of eggs in one basket without making an omelette.”

“Don’t sharpen your eggs before they’re hatched.”

“Are you guys ever gonna stop?” asks Hollyhock.

“I dunno,” answers Todd. “Hey, Herb, can we borrow your car to chase BoJack around trying to make him cry?”

Herb sighs. “I mean, you  _ can,  _ but this plan is gonna backfire on you. You know that, right?”

Emily grins. “We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it.”

* * *

They can’t find him at his usual bar, for some reason, but the second-closest one is where they overhear a chorus of, “Hey, aren’t you the horse from  _ Ethan Around?” _

They exchange a knowing look, then move away from each other, and allow themselves to get lost in the crowd. Emily darts to the left, Todd to the right, until they’re equally far apart from BoJack. Once they’re in sight of each other, Emily nods. 

They run into BoJack at the same time, making him flinch. He stares at them. “Seriously? That’s all you got?”

“Hey, cut us some breaks,” snaps Emily, playfully nudging him in the ribs. “The road to Hell wasn’t paved in a day.”

“Maybe not, but it doesn’t take much longer than that to go down it.” He gives them an expectant look. “So what other stupid bullshit are you gonna try?”

Todd hesitates. Then, in his meanest voice, he says, “You’re gay!”

“Bi, actually, but close enough. That all?”

Emily smirks. “Your husband nearly died of cancer.” BoJack stiffens a little, but shows no other reaction. “And it could come back at any time, and there’s  _ nothing  _ you could do about it.”

Todd frowns. “Woah, that’s kinda harsh.”

“How are we meant to make him cry without being harsh?” She leans toward BoJack. “Now your husband is fighting with you because you’re too much of a  _ coward  _ to admit you cheated on him. Your daughter hates you.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know.”

Emily considers this.

* * *

She lazily scrolls through her various social media. She frowns. “Hey, Herb?”

Herb looks up from his laptop. “Yeah?”

“...BoJack’s parents were abusive, right?” She hesitates. “I mean, he keeps making these offhand jokes about them doing the  _ worst  _ stuff, and earlier he said they got mad at him for crying, and, well--”

“Yeah.” He fidgets nervously with a loose thread of the couch. “Yeah, uh, BJ had a pretty traumatic childhood.”

“He’s in his fifties, though.” Her frown deepens. “Why hasn’t he  _ healed?” _

“He always says he’s fine.” He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “And I mean, I don’t always believe him, and I kind of feel like he needs therapy, but … I can’t  _ make  _ him do anything, you know? And up until recently his mom was still in contact with him, so that couldn’t have helped.”

“Why didn’t he just, you know, cut contact with her?”

“He tried, but, well, she’s not exactly the sort of person who’ll respect his boundaries. So she didn’t really stop calling him until she got dementia.”

Hollyhock, seemingly satisfied with the conversation, goes back to her phone. Then her frown returns. “Hey, Herb?”

“...Yeah?”

“Do I just have to, like, give up on having kids?” She rubs her arm nervously. “I mean, it’s not just some  _ thing  _ where horses can’t be good parents, is it? Because if BoJack’s parents were abusive, and BoJack has panic attacks when he can’t find a spoon to eat all the ice cream with, then, well…”

“No, don’t worry. Horses can be good parents.” He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, closes it, then opens it again. “Besides, I kind of get the sense that he wasn’t freaking out about the spoons, you know? It was just the last straw that broke the camel’s back.”

* * *

Throwing aside the chopping board full of onions and wiping her own eyes, she grins. “Okay, I’m pretty sure we’re near a breaking point. We just need to figure out the last straw to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Can you two stop with the stupid-ass ‘malaphor’ thing?” asks BoJack. 

“Oh, cry us a guitar,” says Todd, waving a hand dismissively.

Emily stands over BoJack. “Okay, you know what I think?”

He looks up at her. “What?” 

“I think you regret  _ everything.”  _ BoJack frowns. “I think you genuinely love Herb, but there’s some tiny little part of you that  _ hates  _ him. Because he gave you  _ everything  _ you could  _ ever  _ ask for, but by doing that, he opened up your eyes to the fact that he could give you  _ everything  _ he could give and it  _ still  _ wouldn’t be good enough for you. And  _ that’s  _ why you cheated on him.”

BoJack stiffens. “What the hell are you on about?”

“That’s why people cheat, isn’t it?” she continues, pointing a finger accusingly. “Because they want something their partner  _ can’t  _ give them. So first they try asking again and again, in a million different ways, just trying to  _ get  _ whatever they want. But then, they realise it’s not going to happen. So then, they cheat. And they can  _ never  _ forget it.”

“Okay, you know what?” BoJack stands up, glaring. “You’re super into malaphors now, aren’t you? Well here’s a malaphor for you:  _ People in glass houses should not beat a dead horse.” _

Emily gulps. Todd blinks. “Uh, what are you two talking about?”

“Nothing!” says Emily hurriedly. “Nothing, nothing, nothing.” She clears her throat loudly. “So, uh, what do you say we call it quits?”

“Yeah,” agrees BoJack. “Since you’re being annoying as shit.”

Todd waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, cry me a penguin.”

“That’s the problem. I’m not  _ going  _ to cry you a penguin, or a guitar, or a table, or whatever it is. Do those ones even count as malaphors? You’re not mixing two existing metaphors, you’re just taking one and changing one of the words.” He downs his drink. “You kids, just -- get lost, okay? You can stand around here all day badgering me with your stupid-ass insults and your stupid-ass onions, but I’m never gonna cry. I haven’t cried in front of anyone since I was a kid. I couldn’t if I wanted to.”

Emily nods. “Yeah, let’s go.” Before Todd can protest, she’s grabbed his arm and she’s pulling him away.

Todd drags his feet at first, but once he’s a few metres away from BoJack, he loses his reluctance. “Well, it was nice while it lasted, wasn’t it?”

Emily freezes. “What was?”

“You know, trying to make BoJack cry.” He slings an arm around her shoulders. “We’re a good team, aren’t we?”

“...Yeah.”

“Like two peas in a toolbox!”

“...Yeah, sure, that.” 

“And I’m so glad you’re my girlfriend. I really like how I can  _ trust  _ you.”

She frowns. “Hey, Todd?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we … talk? In private?”

* * *

She runs a hand through her mane, tugging at the strands of her hair, barely resisting the urge to pull them out. “It’s just so  _ frustrating,  _ you know? I came here to find my biological parents. My dad is some fifty-four-year-old man who still hasn’t healed from his own childhood and won’t even admit I could be his, and I’ve been here for  _ months  _ and we’re no closer to figuring out my mom.”

Herb sighs. “I am  _ so  _ sorry about this, Hollyhock.” He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “You know, if you want to go back to your dads, I’ll pay for the flight. I can keep looking for you mom here and tell you if we find anything.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “I’ve been here this long, might as well stick around, y’know? Besides, I’m kinda liking California … apart from all the grown men having panic attacks over spoons.” She frowns. “It’s just -- why do I  _ need  _ to find my biological parents? I  _ know  _ that my dads are enough for me, and that they’re still my dads even if we’re not blood-related but -- I just feel like I  _ need  _ to know my roots, you know?” She looks away in embarrassment. “I mean, sorry, you don’t know, but --”

“Actually, I, uh -- I do know.” He blushes. “I don’t really talk about it much, but I was adopted.”

“No way.” She immediately sits up straight, staring at him with wide eyes. “Why didn’t you mention that before now?!”

“I don’t really like talking about my family. My birth parents died when I was really young and my adoptive family disowned me when they found out I was gay. But, yeah, I was adopted.”

She winces sympathetically. “Sorry about, uh, getting disowned.”

“Not your fault. But, uh, back when I was a kid, before I got outed, things were -- things were good. They used to do all the  _ cool parent  _ things, y’know? Like, they’d make sure I always knew they would love me no matter what -- until I was gay, obviously -- and they’d help me with my homework, and on the weekend me and my siblings would play basketball together, and --”

“You had siblings?” Her voice takes on a slight whining quality. “Oh, I’m  _ so  _ jealous. I always wished I had, like, a lame older brother, you know?”

“Honestly, me too.” He chuckles. “I had two sisters. One older, one younger.”

Her eyes widen. “Like…”

“Did I mention my dad was a horse?”

She laughs. “So  _ that’s  _ why Ethan was your favourite character.” She pauses, frowning. “Wait, so you gave the catchphrase ‘yowza-bowza-bo-bowza’ to the character based on you?”

“Hey, I still think that was a good catchphrase.” He chuckles. “I wanted him to get more focus, but the execs made me write more episodes focused on Olivia and Sabrina. You know, because of the ‘middle child syndrome’ thing. So I’m glad Bradley’s finally getting some Ethan love.”

“I still don’t get why his last name is Hitler-Smith. It’s like, was there someone in his family who was named Hitler, and changed their name when they got married but kept the Hitler part?”

“Yeah, we were all confused about that too.” He looks her in the eyes. “Hollyhock, we’re  _ gonna  _ figure out who your mom is, I’m sure of it.”

She manages a small smile. “...Yeah.”

The front door flies open. Todd storms into the living room, his head low, but the tear tracks on his cheeks barely visible. He hurriedly closes the door behind him, and answers Herb’s concerned frown with a snappish, “I don’t want to talk about it.” Within moments he’s run off to some other room.

There’s a long, ominous silence.

“Geez,” mutters Hollyhock. “He’s really crying us a table.”

* * *

He half-expects his entrance late in the evening to be met with a, “Well, look what the cat dragged out of the bag” or some equally annoying attempt at a mixed metaphor. When Todd fails to say anything irritating upon his entrance, or indeed be present in the living room at all, he frowns. “Where’s --”

“I gave him the guest room for a few hours,” explains Hollyhock. “He wants to be alone at the moment, so I said he could stay there if he didn’t touch my stuff.”

His frown deepens. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah,” answers Herb. “Yeah, he’s okay, it’s just…” His voice drops to a near-whisper. “He and Emily broke up.”

“Shit.” His heart skips a beat. “What happened?”

“Apparently she cheated on him.”

The words  _ oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit  _ run around in circles in BoJack’s head, but he gulps it down and tries to speak evenly. “With who?”

“Apparently she wouldn’t tell him,” answers Hollyhock. BoJack only just manages to hold in his sigh of relief.

“Well, that sucks. Those two were really cute together.” He frowns. “I’m gonna go out for a cigarette.”

Herb and Hollyhock murmur their agreements, and he heads outside. He gently closes the door behind him. He leans against the closed door and lights a cigarette, and he knows he should probably try to quit but he needs  _ something  _ to calm him down and he’s already drank too much today and coffee will just make the shaking worse, and besides, who cares about lungs?

Or, more specifically, who cares about  _ his  _ lungs? The only person who needs them to live is  _ him.  _ And really, wouldn’t everyone be so much better off if he just died already?

He takes out his phone and scrolls through his contacts as he breathes in the cigarette smoke. It’s a long list, but there’s not a single person on it he feels that he could actually  _ call.  _

_ God,  _ he’s alone. And this isn’t even the worst of it. It’s only a matter of time before Herb finds out he cheated on him. With  _ Emily,  _ of all people. Todd’s girlfriend. Way to screw over the only two people stupid enough to still care about him.

He takes a deep breath. It doesn’t calm him down.

He spares one last anxious glance at the door behind him, just to make sure it’s still closed. The irrational fear of  _ being caught  _ creeps up on him. He drops the cigarette and stamps it out, rubbing the remains into the concrete. He takes another deep breath, this time of fresh air instead of smoke, and it entirely fails to calm his racing heart.

He stares around at his front yard with wide, frantic eyes. Then he shuts it out, shuts it  _ all  _ out, by burying his face in his hands so he won’t have to face the world. He draws in a few more lungfuls of air in a futile attempt to calm himself down, but it’s too late now, and it’s all he can do to keep standing as his legs turn to jelly. His mind flicks back to Emily, in his car, jokingly asking what he could  _ possibly  _ do in two minutes.

He takes one more deep breath, his head still buried in his hands, and bursts into tears.


	10. It's You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BoJack attempts to ask Diane for advice, but he gets dragged into a party to support Mr. Peanutbutter's campaign, which quickly turns into a ten-day "vacation" underground.

All he wanted to do was ask Diane for some advice.

So, as one naturally would, he started this task by trying to talk to Diane. Rather than call or text her, at least to give her some warning of his arrival, he just muttered some vague excuse to Herb and Hollyhock -- Todd was already out on some bizarre scheme -- and showed up at her door.  He didn’t anticipate that he would then spend the next twenty minutes trying to get out of spending twenty thousand dollars on a plate full of food he wouldn’t eat to donate to a cause he doesn’t care about.

“Come  _ on,”  _ he protests, trying to push past the stupid-ass security guy to get inside. “I just want to have, like, a five minute conversation with Diane.”

“You have to buy a plate to get in,” the guard insists. 

“But I don’t even want to -- oh, hey, Mr. Peanutbutter.” He frantically waves to get the dog’s attention. “Hey, Mr. Peanutbutter, can you let me in? I’ve gotta talk to Diane.”

He spares an anxious glance back inside. “I can ask Diane to come outside and you can talk to her here, if you want.”

“No, I need to talk to her  _ inside.  _ Can’t you just let me in?!”

Mr. Peanutbutter, as it turns out, can just let him in. He simply chooses not to. BoJack donates twenty thousand dollars to a cause he doesn’t care about so he can get access to food he won’t eat, and interrupts Diane just as she’s about to kiss Mr. Peanutbutter.

“Psst,” he hisses. “Help needed, now.”

“Thanks for asking so politely,” she deadpans. “What’s up?”

He freezes.

_ What’s up?  _ A simple question, really. What’s up? Well, what  _ is  _ up? “Uh…” He takes a deep breath. “Well, you see, the problem is -- it’s, uh, well, it’s a bunch of things really -- Herb and I are still fighting, and -- well, what’s  _ up  _ is that…”

That he’s a  _ traitor  _ and a  _ fat asshole  _ and a  _ stupid piece of shit.  _ And he’s managed to successfully ruin  _ every single  _ good thing in his life. And his daughter/not-daughter/ _ it’s complicated  _ probably, no,  _ definitely  _ hates him, and honestly, who could blame her? 

“...Uh, BoJack?”

His legs turn to jelly and he leans on the nearest wall for support. “Sorry. I’m, uh -- I’m kinda a wreck.” He forced a strained smile. “Seriously, I am  _ this  _ close to falling off the deep end.”

“Oof,” says a familiar voice a few feet away from him. “I know the feeling. My advice is, just dive  _ right  _ off. You’re screwed anyway.”

He turns irritably to face the voice. “Thanks, Sarah Lynn. That’s  _ real  _ comforting.”

"Oh, whatever. You’re still fighting with Herb? There are bigger problems. Like, I’m eighty per cent sure we’re about to have a giant-ass earthquake or some shit.”

Diane’s eyes widen. “What makes you think that?”

Sarah Lynn straightens up, launching into an explanation. “Okay, so, last night, I got  _ really  _ high. It was like, you know that annoying stupid-ass thing that happens every year, where people make that annoying ‘stop asking me where I see myself in three years, I don’t have 2020 vision’ joke? And then toward the end of the year they make it even more, and they say shit like ‘We only have two more weeks to make this joke!’ And then the next year it’s the same joke all over again, except this time it’s, ‘Stop asking me where I see myself in  _ two  _ years, I don’t have 2020 vision’?”

Diane blinks. “I  _ don’t  _ have 20/20 vision.”

“Well, I do, and that’s why I managed to get  _ so  _ high, I saw myself in three years. It was  _ wild.  _ Everyone was saying ‘ok boomer’ to each other and there was a pandemic. It was  _ great.  _ Anyway, while I was seeing the future, I saw myself at this stupid-ass party, and then there was an earthquake.” She clears her throat. “Also, I looked into the architecture of this house, and lemme tell you, it is  _ not  _ a good place to do fracking.”

BoJack waves a hand dismissively. “Eh, you’re probably being paranoid.”

As a matter of fact, she is not.

* * *

On day one of being trapped underground, she finds him in Mr. Peanutbutter’s bedroom. “Hey, are you hoarding all the alcohol without me?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” He hands her a bottle of vodka. “I should have believed you about the earthquake thing.”

“You figured that out now?” she jokes, nudging him in the ribs. “Last time we talked you couldn’t solve the mystery of where the toilet was. You puked in the washing machine.”

“Hey, like you haven’t puked in the washing machine a couple times.”

“You’re right, I have.” She plops down onto the bed next to him. “It happens to everyone.”

“No, it just happens to  _ us.  _ Because we’re  _ broken.” _

Her eyes widen. “Woah, you seem depressed. Let’s get some booze into you, stat.” She grabs another bottle from the pile and hands it to him. He downs the remains of his first bottle and starts to sip on the second.

“It’s total chaos out there,” explains Sarah Lynn. “Everyone’s yelling and freaking out. I bet my ass this is on the news already.”

BoJack’s eyes widen. “Shit, I’d better call Herb.”

She frowns. “I thought you two were fighting?”

“We are, but, uh, he’s been more  _ amicable  _ with me lately. A couple weeks back I had a full-on panic attack because I couldn’t find a spoon and then when he asked if I was okay I yelled at him and threatened to kill myself. So ever since that he’s been walking on sharpened eggshells like I’m about to do something stupid.”

“Ugh, I  _ hate  _ that about him. Back when I was a kid, I swear to God, I’d make  _ one  _ comment about my stepdad and then stupid-ass Herb would call goddamned CPS. It’s like,  _ newsflash,  _ dude, I’m  _ fine.  _ I was old enough to handle it. And  _ nobody  _ needs to have that many Z’s in their last name.” She tilts her head. “Wait, did you say he was walking on sharpened eggshells?”

BoJack ignores her, getting out his phone and holding it to his ear. “Hey, Herb? I’m not sure if it’s on the news, but … Yeah. Yeah, I  _ know  _ I said I was just going out for a couple drinks, but I just  _ happened  _ to stop by to talk to Diane, and also that was the main reason I went out, sorry, I lied. What can I say? I’m a liar, I lie. … Anyway, Sarah Lynn’s at the party with me, she’s safe. I think Diane and Mr. Peanutbutter are okay too. Not sure about anyone else. ... Yeah, okay, I’ll try and keep you updated via text. I dunno how long my battery’s gonna last, though. Oh, and  _ don’t  _ touch my coffee. And don’t let Hollyhock drink it, or Todd, if he comes home. ...Yeah, I’ll stay safe. ...Love you, bye.”

He hangs up and holds down the power button of his phone, turning it off properly to conserve battery. He turns to Sarah Lynn. “You should probably turn your phone all the way off in case you need the battery to call someone.”

“Who would I call? I don’t really have friends except like, you and Herb, Todd, and maybe Bradley I guess.”

He frowns. “Gee, that sounds really --”

“Don’t.” Her features harden. “You sound like goddamned Herb. He thinks that I’ve been through a bunch of  _ trauma,  _ and now if I’ve gotta get my stupid ass carted off to rehab. Or worse,  _ pitied.” _

“Ugh, he’s been pestering me about rehab too.”

“It’s  _ so  _ annoying. I’ve  _ been  _ to rehab once, and lemme tell you, it  _ sucks.  _ You just spend a week throwing up all the time from withdrawals, then talk about your feelings a bunch and paint. Why would I  _ pay  _ to throw up? I’m not freaking Joelle.” BoJack laughs harder than he probably should at that joke. “Jeez, I should probably write that down. If I die underground here I want my last words to be a shitty joke at Joelle’s expense.”

At that moment, Diane walks into the room. She grabs herself a bottle of whiskey, begins to fiddle with the lid, and sits down next to BoJack. “Do you still need my help?”

BoJack waves a hand dismissively. “Eh, you can either help me or you can get drunk with me, but you can’t do both.” 

Diane takes the lid off and looks him dead in the eyes. “Watch me.” She chugs the bottle.

* * *

On the fourth day underground, they’re somehow not even halfway through all the alcohol. When Sarah Lynn points out how  _ weird  _ that is, Diane waves a hand dismissively and explains that she has a  _ lot  _ of alcohol stored for a rainy day.

“Still, though,” protests Sarah Lynn. “I mean, there are three of us here, we’re basically doing nothing but drinking, two of us are  _ really  _ heavy drinkers, and one of us is a giant-ass horse.”

Diane frowns. “Yeah, BoJack, you have been drinking less than usual, and you’re still just as drunk. Did you lose weight or something?”

“...I dunno,” answers BoJack after a long pause. He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “So do you know what the  _ stupidest  _ thing is? Herb’s  _ still  _ walking on eggshells around me. I swear to God, you threaten suicide when he asks if you’re okay after you had a panic attack over a spoon  _ once  _ and he thinks you’re a goddamn basketcase.”

Diane stares at him. “...You threatened suicide when he asked if you were okay after you had a panic attack over a spoon?” She groans. “So are you part of the ‘marriage falling apart’ club?”

“Your marriage doesn’t seem that bad.”

“I’m trapped underground and it’s all my husband’s fault and I’m gonna die in this mansion in a mass grave with his ex-wives.”

There’s a long, ominous pause. 

“Okay,” says BoJack. “But on the bright side, Mr. Peanutbutter loves you, you got a cool job, you’ve got friends.”

“Jesus, you’re right.” Her eyes widen. “Even when I was above ground, I wasn’t satisfied. Oh my god. I’m the problem!” She starts violently sobbing into her hands. “Why can’t I be happy? Am I busted?”

“No,” begins BoJack. “It’s --”

“I am!” she yells. “I’m a  _ pit!  _ I’m a pit that good things fall into!”

“Diane, you’re not a pit --”

_ “I’m a pit!” _

BoJack places a hand on her shoulder as she continues to sob. Finally, she wipes her eyes, but she can’t manage to remove the mascara stains from her face. She sighs. “I can’t believe I’m crying. This is so dumb.”

“It’s okay,” says BoJack. “Don’t feel bad about feeling bad.” He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I’d try and give you some advice, but, uh … people in glass houses should not beat a dead horse, y’know?”

She blinks. “What?”

“I’m still fighting with Herb. And I’m a  _ mess.” _

“Jeez, I’m sorry.” She frowns. “Did something happen, or …?”

He grimaces. “So there’s this girl. Her name’s Hollyhock, she’s seventeen, and she’s adopted, but she looks  _ just  _ like me. So she wanted to find her birth family, and she started by thinking I was her dad, and I  _ knew  _ it was impossible because she was conceived in 1999 and I didn’t cheat on Herb in that year, but I got a DNA test anyway, and … yeah. We’re related, somehow.”

“Oof,” says Sarah Lynn. There’s not much else to say.

“Maybe if you tried finding her real dad?” suggests Diane. “If you get a mutual consent form --”

“What is this, 1993?” snaps BoJack. “I don’t need to hear shitty writers talking my ear off about how adoption works.”

“... _ What?” _

He waves a hand dismissively. “Welp, I’ve had too much sad booze. I need happy booze. Somebody get some goddamn vodka into me before I  _ die.” _

* * *

They’re underground for ten days, in total.

They’re about to drown before a bizarre set of circumstances that nobody except Todd and Princess Carolyn understand save them. Diane and Mr. Peanutbutter are about to go home when they realise they  _ are  _ home, and also that they kind of need a new house. Princess Carolyn congratulates them on the  _ great  _ party, and Todd and BoJack join their conversation.

Sarah Lynn clears her throat nervously. “So, uh, Ethiopian?”

Everyone stares at her. “Huh?” asks Todd.

“The Ethiopian restaurant has good bread. And, uh, we’ve all been on party-rations for ages, so…”

Everyone murmurs their agreements. BoJack hesitates. He probably  _ should  _ go get Ethiopian. Maybe even indulge a little and let himself binge. God knows he deserves it, after the last ten days. Or maybe the last several months. Besides, he can only reject the offer of food so many times before people start to get suspicious, and if he gets  _ caught  _ then they’ll probably drag him off to some looney bin where everyone shoves food down his throat and it’ll all be for nothing.

But, the  _ calories... _

“I can’t,” he says automatically.

“Why not?” asks Todd.

He can’t meet Todd’s eye. He takes a deep breath, trying to think of an excuse, and then says the  _ worst possible thing. _

“I had sex with Emily.”

Everyone takes a step away from him in shock. Diane and Sarah Lynn start muttering amongst themselves, trying to figure out who  _ Emily  _ is. Todd glares. “What?!”

“I know, I know,” he rushes to say. “Todd, I’m sorry, I know, I’m  _ bad,  _ but  _ please  _ don’t tell Herb.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t tell Herb.” He takes a step toward BoJack.  _ “You  _ will.”

BoJack scrambles to apologise. “Todd, I’m sorry, alright? I screwed up. I  _ know  _ I screwed up. I don’t know why --”

“Oh great! Of course!” He throws up his hands in frustration. “Here it comes!  _ You can’t keep doing this!  _ You can’t keep doing shitty things, and then feel bad about yourself like that makes it okay!  _ You need to be better!” _

“I know,” says BoJack weakly. “And I’m sorry, okay? I was  _ so  _ stressed, I was fighting with Herb, and --”

“No!” He’s angrier than BoJack’s ever seen him. “No, BoJack, just  _ stop.  _ You are all the things that are wrong with you. It’s not the alcohol, or the drugs, or any of the shitty things that happened to you in your career, or when you were a kid. It’s  _ you,  _ alright?  _ It’s you.” _

There’s a long, painful silence.

_ “Fuck,  _ man. What else is there to say?”

* * *

He comes home late that night.

Or rather, he comes home rather early to grab his car. He gives Sarah Lynn a lift to her house so he can borrow her portable phone charger, and then gives her a lift to the Ethiopian place. He charges up his phone enough to shoot Herb a quick text, letting him know that he’s okay and he’ll be home late, and then goes to the bar.

He comes home late. 

It’s already dark out. He checks the time on his phone -- it’s after midnight, so everyone’s almost definitely asleep. He sits in his car and takes several deep breaths.

He goes inside.

He doesn’t dare turn a light on, for fear of waking the others; instead, he uses his phone as a torch.`He tiptoes past the couch, where Todd is fast asleep. The kitchen is mostly as he expected it to be, but Herb and Hollyhock, the little shits, apparently took his “don’t touch my coffee” order too literally, and didn’t even acknowledge the coffee for the last ten days, and now it’s gotten all gross, ugh. He rinses out the coffee maker and, after a few minutes of deliberation, makes himself some more coffee.

Because if he’s already up this late, he might as well stay up until morning, right?

He turns toward the stairs, which lead up the bedroom, but he can’t seem to make himself ascend them. He knows Todd won’t have  _ snitched  _ to Herb, not after he outright said that BoJack had to tell him himself. If anything, that makes it  _ worse;  _ now, he has to look Herb in the eye and tell him that  _ I cheated on you,  _ tell him that  _ You were right,  _ tell him that  _ Every bad thing you’ve thought about me for the last few months has been true. _

He gulps. 

He goes upstairs. Herb is asleep, as he expected. A very deep sleep, apparently; he doesn’t even react when BoJack shines the torch into his face. On an impulse he grabs his  _ SPY SHIT  _ bag.

_ This is pathetic,  _ he tells himself,  _ you can’t just run away because you’re scared to face him.  _ Where does he even think he’s going to  _ go?  _ As he grabs his clothes and piles them into the bag, he tries to tell himself it’s just so he can go a few days not sharing a room with Herb, so he can get changed and go to sleep without waking him up; but Hollyhock has the guest room and Todd’s on the couch, so that’s a weak excuse at best.

He grabs a few valued items from his nightstand, the stupid sentimental things that he mostly only owned because they were gifts from Herb. He goes downstairs and pours his coffee into a thermos, which he carefully shuts before he puts it in the bag. Then, on an impulse, he proceeds to grab the unmade coffee, and then the entire coffee maker.

He tiptoes past the couch again, to the front door, the heavy bag slung over his shoulder. He stands with his back to the door, and whispers, quietly so as not to wake Todd, “I’m sorry. I am  _ so  _ sorry.” 

He pushes the door open, and edges outside. He shuts it and locks it as quietly as he can. Even though nobody can hear him, he mutters, “I love you, Herb.”

He gets into his car.

As the Tesla roars into life, he can almost  _ hear  _ Herb’s objections. Or anyone’s objections, really -- the words that would surely be hitting his ears right now, if he was stupid enough (or smart enough) to let anyone know of his departure. And now he realises, Herb’s gonna  _ freak  _ when he wakes up and BoJack’s nowhere to be seen with half his stuff gone, and maybe he should have left a note, but what would be the point of a note, apart from answering the question?

The question, in this case, is the same one Herb would almost definitely ask him if he were awake right now:

_ Where are you going? _

He presses harder on the pedal and gulps. In his mind, he gives the only answer he can.

_...I don’t know. _

* * *

He can barely keep a secure hold on the steering wheel; his hands are shaking uncontrollably and so is a good chunk of the rest of his body. His heart is absolutely  _ pounding,  _ and with each beat he can  _ feel  _ the blood rushing through his ears. Despite this, his eyelids still droop. Apparently going a good twenty-four hours without sleep and driving for thirteen hours straight running on nothing but coffee is a bad idea.

Who could have guessed?

He finally pulls up in front of the store. Even now, there’s some part of him, the  _ stupidest goddamn part of him,  _ telling him that he needs to stop now for fear of  _ being caught,  _ telling him to turn back now. Or maybe he could put together a disguise and pretend he’s just an ordinary customer. Maybe he needs to buy some … turquoise shit.

To stall for time, he picks up his phone, and  _ God  _ that light is bright when he hasn’t slept. He put it on silent to avoid the constant calls he knew were coming, and now his lock screen is full of notifications. Most of them are missed calls from Herb, but there are several texts, too.

_ Hollyhock: where are you? Herb is freaking out _

_T odd: did you seriously just run away because i found out about emily? not cool dude_

_ Diane: Hey BoJack, I just wanted to check you were doing okay after that fight you had with Todd? _

_ Diane: ??? Herb just called me asking if I knew where you were? I was about to tell him about your fight with Todd but he just freaked out and hung up, what’s going on? _

_ Hollyhock: seriously bojack this isnt funny _

_ Joelle: i just don’t get how puppetgate is ableist. _

_ Joelle: sorry, i meant to send that message to another group chat. _

_ Unknown number: ? What group chat? _

_ Sarah Lynn: @joelle kys. hey bj r u good? u kinda freaked out yesterday _

He places all of the messages in the large bucket of things that he ignores in the hope that they’ll go away. Then, he steps out of the car.

She’s clearing up some clutter on the counter at the moment, so he stands outside, leaning on his car. He can practically see the moment when it clicks -- she looks up absentmindedly, then looks back down, then looks back up, evidently shocked.  _ Deer in the headlights,  _ he thinks to himself, and he chuckles, and it’s not even that funny.

She quickly glances around the empty store to make sure there’s no customers, then abandons her spot at the counter and comes outside, flipping the sign at the door on her way out so it says  _ CLOSED  _ instead of  _ OPEN.  _ She stares at him with wide eyes. “What are you doing here?”

God, he wasn’t prepared for that question. “Well, you’ve always said we should come by whenever we’re in New Mexico, so…”

“I mean, yeah, but Herb usually calls ahead. Where’s Herb?”

He grimaces. “Still in California.”

“Why?” She narrows his eyes. “Did you --”

“No! Nothing happened!” He frantically waves his hands, then gives a nervous chuckle. “So, uh, do you really need that store open right now? Because I’ve been driving for the last thirteen hours, I’m running on nothing but  _ way  _ too much caffeine, and if I’m being honest, I  _ really  _ want to see Kyle and the kids right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> normally I try to point out how this au differs from canon by just having a character (usually todd) say something like "some of them are from sarah lynn, who hasn't overdosed in this universe", followed by another character telling him to shut up about his stupid multiverse theory, but I could not possibly imagine a conversation in which bojack says "since in this universe I didn't try to have sex with penny when she was 17" and charlotte doesn't immediately deck him so uh. here's your obligatory statement that bj didn't try to have sex with penny when she was 17 in this au.


	11. Escape From L.A.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BoJack hides from his problems in New Mexico.

Charlotte fiddles away at some of her turquoise shit, and stares at him with a raised eyebrow. “Okay, so let me get this straight. You came here from Los Angeles, which is right near the beach, to landlocked New Mexico, to go to a boat show, so that you could buy a boat for Herb for his birthday?”

“...Yes,” says BoJack after a long pause.

“Even though Herb’s birthday isn’t for several months, Herb doesn’t like water, and you  _ always  _ call ahead before you come over?”

“...Yes.” His ears perk up. “Someone’s at the door. Oh shit, are we being robbed?”

“It’s just Trip,” snaps Charlotte playfully. After a few more seconds of wrestling with the door Trip walks into the room, and woah, when did he get so  _ tall? _

“Woah, Trip,” exclaims BoJack, leaping out of his chair to ruffle his hair. “You’ve grown so much!”

Trip shies away from him like an embarrassed teenager, and says flatly, “Yeah, that’s puberty for you.” Then he goes to his room to play video games.

BoJack frowns. “Where’s Penny?”

“...Oberlin?” answers Charlotte, tilting her head. “She’s been in college for almost two years now, remember? Also, she’s going through a bit of a  _ phase,  _ and she wants everyone to call her Penelope now.”

“Seriously?” He shrugs. “Eh, it’s better than when she was fourteen and wanted everyone to call her Cent.” His phone lights up and his eyes widen as an annoying version of the  _ Horsin’ Around  _ theme fills the room. “Oh, shit.”

“Who is it?” asks Charlotte.

He glances at the lock screen, which proudly displays the words  _ Hollyhock Manheim-Mannhiem-Guerrero-Robinson-Zilberschlag-Hsung-Fonzarelli-McQuack.  _ “The … The boat guy.” He answers it and speaks into the phone, walking out of the room as he does. “Hello, yes, I would like the starboard to be fully starboard and the port to be … also starboard.”

_ “What?!”  _ chokes Hollyhock.

“Sorry,” he explains, once he’s out of Charlotte’s earshot. “I’m lying to Charlotte and I have to make it seem like I’m only here to buy a boat.”

“... _ What?!” _

“Long story. What’s up?”

“What’s up?!” she chokes. “You just  _ left  _ last night, without any explanation! Half of your stuff is gone! Herb’s freaking out.”

“Ugh. Well, tell Herb I’m fine. I just … needed a break.” He gulps. “I’m, uh, I’m in New Mexico. I’m staying with my friend Charlotte. You don’t know who that is but Herb will. I’ll, uh, I’ll be back in L.A. when I feel up to it, okay?”

She sighs. “Okay. We’ll call you if anything important happens over here.”

* * *

They do, in fact, call him.

Not that he knows it, because at some point he decides to put his phone on silent and never gets around to taking it off silent. To be more specific, he turns it onto silent after a particularly irritating call from Sarah Lynn.

“BoJack!” she yells into the phone, and he winces, because she has all the volume control of a brick flying through his window and around the same amount of tact and  _ he did not sleep enough for this god dammit.  _ “BoJack, I just realised something  _ huge!  _ I’ve had an epiphany!”

“What?” he demands flatly.

“If you cut yourself so you’ll stop crying, that makes you a reverse onion.”

“Cool. It’s  _ one in the goddamn morning.” _

So, he turns his phone on silent, and no amount of missed calls from Herb or Hollyhock or Todd can persuade him to turn the sound back on. He’s not  _ hiding,  _ no no no, that would be  _ ridiculous.  _ It’s not  _ his  _ fault if he just  _ happens  _ to be away from his phone when they call, or if he just  _ happens  _ to be so paralysed with fear upon seeing the caller ID that it goes to voicemail in his hand, or if he just  _ happens  _ to be too  _ busy  _ to call them back.

And he  _ is  _ busy. He has  _ loads  _ of important shit to do. Like, first he has to go to Santa Fe to get the goddamn boat so Charlotte can quit snooping into what the hell he’s doing here, and  _ that’s  _ a whole thing. And once he’s got a whole goddamned boat in Charlotte’s driveway and she’s given her reluctant and slightly concerned permission for him to stay there as long as he needs to, well, he has to  _ clean  _ it, and buy  _ furniture,  _ and put all his shit away, and that’s another whole thing, and really, is it his fault that a month goes past without him doing much more than texting Herb at regular intervals to let him know that he’s still alive (barely) and there’s no need to report him missing yet?

Yes. It is his fault.

It’s a little after three in the afternoon when Charlotte walks onto his boat with a phone in her hand and an unamused expression on her face. She holds her hand over the phone’s microphone and frowns. “Herb says you’ve been ignoring his calls.”

“...I’m not  _ ignoring  _ them,” he mutters weakly, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I just, you see, I haven’t been at the phone often --”

“If you’re not on your phone, then what are you  _ doing?”  _ she asks. “You don’t have a computer here, and I’m pretty sure you don’t have any books, or anything else you could use to pass the time. You barely leave your boat.” She sighs. “Look, uh, Herb called me. He wants to talk to you. Apparently it’s important.” She holds out the whole to him.

When he takes the phone, it’s much like one may take a microwave-safe plate when they’re not sure how recently it was used. At first, he’s hesitant,  _ so  _ hesitant that he can’t seem to make himself touch the thing, and Charlotte’s not sure whether to be amused or concerned. When he finally touches it, it’s just for a second, and he pulls away because the fact that he  _ expects  _ it to hurt almost manages to produce pain just by itself; but then, he knows it’s safe, and he takes it with ease.

He holds it to his ear. “...Hi.”

“BJ?”  _ God,  _ he didn’t realise how badly he needed to hear that voice. “Is that you?”

“Y-Yeah, it’s BoJack.” He pauses. “Horseman, obviously.”

“God, I’ve missed you. Why didn’t you answer my calls?”

“I, uh… Because…” Because seeing his name on the caller ID was enough to trigger a spiral of  _ he’s onto you, you’re going to get caught, you’re going to get caught, this is an interrogation, anything you say can and will be used against you, you’re going to get caught, he’s onto you, he hates you.  _ Or sometimes, when he was drunk enough, a spiral of  _ maybe he’s breaking up with you, why hasn’t he done that yet? You’re a fat piece of shit, everybody hates you, it’s a miracle he’s put up with you this long.  _ “I dunno, I freaked out a little.” Speaking of freaking out,  _ why the heck is it so hard to breathe all of a sudden?! _

“Well, you don’t need to freak out, okay? I mean, it’s just a phone call. What am I gonna do, yell at you?”

_ Yes.  _ He forces a chuckle. “Yeah, I, uh -- I guess I was being kinda paranoid.”

“Yeah, maybe a little. And, anyway, so, after you left, we realised you weren’t gonna tell us about Hollyhock’s mom, so…”

He continues talking, but after that point it all falls on deaf ears.  _ He knows. _

_ Knows what, idiot? Emily’s not Hollyhock’s mom.  _

_ He’s onto you, though. He’s onto you. Okay, he probably isn’t, just breathe, it’s okay, he’s onto you, nothing is ever going to be okay, he knows, he knows, he knows, oh god, oh god oh god oh god oh god shit shit shit shit shit shit motherfu-- _

“Uh, BJ?” asks Herb. “You still there?”

He gulps. “Y-Yeah, I just…” Oh God, his voice is breaking, that’s probably making him look more suspicious. “I’m a little anxious, is all.”

“Woah, you sound like you just saw a plastic bag in the wind. Just breathe, okay?” He tries to regulate his breathing, for Herb’s sake, even though what he really wants to do is just  _ stop breathing,  _ just  _ get his broken mind out of this disgusting body and be free from the burden of existence.  _ “Okay, BJ, I want you to look around the room and tell me what you see.”

“Huh?”

“It’s a grounding thing, it’s meant to help with anxiety.”

He stiffens, because  _ he’s fine,  _ because  _ he’s not crazy,  _ because  _ he can’t let Herb know how messed up he is because then he’ll be caught,  _ and stutters out, “No, I’m good.”

“You sure?” He sounds skeptical.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what  _ I’m  _ seeing, baby:  _ Not  _ cancer, because I finally got my head out of my ass.” He chuckles nervously at his own joke. “And, uh, BJ, I -- I’m  _ really  _ sorry for not believing you.”

His eyes widen. “You mean --”

“We went to go get Hollyhock’s birth certificate. And it was  _ really  _ hard, because there was no horse girl born on her birthday in Los Angeles, but then we were bored one day and we thought, what the hell, let’s check out San Francisco. And it turns out, she was actually born there! Anyway, uh -- Her mom is a woman named Henrietta Platchkey, and her dad is -- you will not  _ believe  _ this -- her dad is  _ Butterscotch  _ Horseman.”

BoJack stares blankly at one of the inner walls of his boat.

“Hollyhock’s your sister,” explains Herb.

“Oh,” says BoJack. He doesn’t seem to care about this as much as part of him knows he should. 

Herb sounds dejected when he responds. “BJ, I said I was sorry.”

“I know,” says BoJack.

“So, uh, do you wanna come back to California, or --”

“Actually, uh -- I didn’t just leave because you were mad at me. It was a lot of things.” He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I’m, uh, I’m kinda going through some shit right now.”

“Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise. Do you want me to, uh, come by Tesuque, and --”

“No.” He gulps. “Herb,  _ please  _ don’t take this the wrong way, but I -- I  _ can’t  _ be with you right now. I just need a break.”

“...Oh.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, uh…” He tries to hide the disappointment in his voice. “Don’t be sorry, you’re just asserting your own boundaries.”

“I -- I  _ do  _ miss you, and I’m sorry for ignoring your calls. I’m fine with talking to you on the phone, I’m just -- I’m not ready to see you in person again right now.”

“Yeah, that’s -- that’s fine. Just…” He takes a deep breath. “Call me if you need anything, okay? And stay safe. And, uh, come back to California whenever you can.”

BoJack gulps. “Okay. I will.”

* * *

They talk on the phone almost every day after that. It’s not entirely clear what they talk  _ about.  _ They find various topics that they can ramble about to pass the time -- Todd’s latest schemes, how Trip’s doing in school, the memes they see on social media and describe in excruciating detail even though they  _ know  _ the other’s probably seen it. At one point Herb spends almost an hour ranting about a specific episode of a British comedy show that was popular in the 70s, musing aloud on whether you could  _ actually  _ knock someone out by hitting them with a black pudding, and how weird it is that they got away with having literal blackface on TV in only 1975, and hey, did someone  _ actually  _ die laughing from watching that episode or was that just an urban legend?

After that conversation, it becomes pretty clear to both of them, not that either of them admit it, that there’s no real  _ reason  _ for these calls. They just like hearing the sound of each other’s voices.

It’s two solid weeks of this before Herb nervously clears his throat. “So, um, BJ, uh -- Hollyhock wants to go visit her biological mom.”

“Oh.” His face falls. “Well, uh, tell her I said bye.”

“No, she -- she wants to stay here long enough to say goodbye to you in person.” He clears his throat nervously. “So, uh, when do you --”

“I don’t know.” He sighs. “Tell her from me, that, uh -- that she can stay if she wants, but I might be a while. And I also might be back tomorrow. Who knows? I’m all over the place right now.”

* * *

Two months.

That’s how long he stays in that boat, blind to anyone’s questions about his continued presence in Charlotte’s driveway. When he ventures out of his boat one Friday night, and goes to sit on a log next to Charlotte as she tends to the fire, she sighs. “Not to seem like I’m kicking you out, but you’re kind of being a Goober now.”

He forces a chuckle. “Yeah. I’m, uh, I’m sorry. I’m going through some shit right now.”

“Really?” she snarks. “Couldn’t have guessed. The whole ‘avoiding Herb and living in a boat in my driveway’ thing wasn’t a giveaway at all.”

He gives another laugh, but it sounds even more forced than the first.

“You’ve lost weight, too.” She frowns. “Let me guess, exercising more by running from your problems?”

“Quit it,” he snaps, elbowing her in the ribs. She chuckles fondly.

There’s a long, painful silence.

“So what’s up with Trip’s history teacher?” asks BoJack.

“He’s kind of an oddball,” she answers.

“I know, but -- showing a bunch of teenagers  _ Monty Python and the Holy Grail  _ because they’re learning about the middle ages? That just sounds like he was feeling lazy and wanted to put on a movie.”

“Or maybe he’s just into Monty Python. He made them take notes and everything.”

_ “Notes?!”  _ chokes on BoJack. “Notes on  _ what,  _ the Holy Hand Grenade?” He laughs at his own joke. “Oh God, that reminds me.”

She looks up. “Reminds you of what?”

“Back in the 80s, uh -- You know how  _ stupid  _ Herb’s last name is? It’s like, we get it, you’ve got a Z fetish or something. Seriously, one Z is plenty, two is pushing it. Three is just  _ ridiculous.  _ Ugh, and people wonder why I kept my last name when I got married.”

She gives him an expectant look. “How does this relate to the Holy Hand Grenade?”

“I’m getting there, I’m getting there,” he insists. “So, back in the 80s, when we first started being friends, he gave me his phone number in case I ever wanted to call him. So I wrote it down, and then I wrote his name so I’d know who it was, except I spelt it wrong. You know, K-A-Z-A-Z. And Herb saw it, and you know what he said?”

She’s smiling by now. “What’d he say?”

“He said, ‘Three is the number of Z’s thou shalt use, and the number of the Z’s shalt be three. Four Z’s thou shalt not spell my last name with, neither use thou two, excepting that thou then proceed to add a third. Five is  _ right out.’” _

She cringes. “God, that sounds so  _ stupid.” _

“Oh, trust me, it was. And then I started spelling it with five Z’s, you know, just to annoy him. It was fun.”

She chuckles. “God, your Herb stories are always the best.” Her eyes light up with a childlike excitement. “Tell me another one.”

“Uh, okay.” He thinks for a moment, then clears his throat. “So, remember when he got outed?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, as you know, his parents disowned him, which was a whole thing. So that year toward Thanksgiving, he was all mopey, you know, because he didn’t want to spend the holidays alone? And one day, I just say, oh, what the hell, my parents already hate me so they won’t care if I’m a filthy sinner too, you can spend Thanksgiving with my family.”

“And did they care?” she asks anxiously.

“Eh, not really. I mean, they yelled at me for three hours after I came out to them, but that was all. So, the thing is, I take Herb down to San Francisco, and we all have a nice Thanksgiving together, and I’m  _ terrified.”  _

She tilts her head. “Why?”

“Oh, you know how my parents were. And with my mom it wasn’t so bad, y’know, cause she could at least  _ pretend  _ to be nice sometimes, but my stupid-ass dad, I swear to God, he spent my whole goddamned childhood holed up in his study, so basically the only time he interacted with me was to yell at me or hit me. So that was always fun. I’ve, uh, I’ve always been kinda  _ flinchy  _ around my dad, you know? Always on edge when he’s in the room, that kind of thing. But that year he was already pissed at me for dating Herb, so I just  _ freaked.  _ Had to go to the bathroom to have a panic attack and everything.”

She winces sympathetically. “And then what happened?”

“After a couple minutes Herb came to check on me. Well, actually, it was longer than a couple minutes, because he’d never been in my house before and my parents refused to tell him where the bathroom is. Anyway, he found me freaking out in the bathroom, and he asked what was wrong, and I told him about how shitty my dad was. And I swear to God, the little shit, he looked like he was trying not to laugh, and he said, ‘BJ, your dad used to hit you when you were only a little kid, but he wouldn’t be  _ able  _ to do that now. You’re literally the same size as him, and he’s probably too old to fight you.’”

Charlotte gives him an amused look. “Well, yeah, you were an adult.”

“Hey, don’t blame me, trauma makes your brain do weird shit. And lemme tell you, when Herb said that, it was like everything  _ clicked.  _ It was like, part of my brain was all locked away and not making sense, and those words were the key in the lock. My dad couldn’t hurt me anymore. He wouldn’t  _ dare  _ lay a hand on me now that I’m as big as him, because he’s a  _ coward.  _ So, I took a deep breath, and went back out to finish eating... and I was still terrified of him.”

She tilts her head. “What’s the moral of this story?”

“I dunno.” He nudges a stray rock with his foot. “Okay, you want another story? Here’s a story for you. It was 1994, my mental health was going downhill -- as always -- and we had this episode we had to do, but I just  _ could not  _ focus on memorising the scripts. So it was literally the day of the filming, and I was still in my trailer trying to goddamn process the stupid words. And Herb, I swear to God, he was all, ‘You know we can use the cue cards, right?’, and I was all, ‘I  _ know,  _ Herb’.”

Charlotte chuckles. “And then what?”

“Oh, we got into a whole fight over it. I mean, it wasn’t a  _ fight,  _ it was just messing around, you know? That silly back-and-forth thing where we pretend to hate each other over a couple of annoying scripts. And at one point, we’re both still joking around, and he says, ‘BJ, I swear to God, I hate you with every inch of my being’, and I just looked him dead in the eye and said, ‘What, all thirty-six of them?’”

Charlotte laughs aloud. “Woah,  _ that  _ must have pissed him off.”

“Yeah, it did, a little. It was pretty funny. First he started yelling about how he’s not three feet tall, and I pointed out that Sarah Lynn was almost as tall as him. Did I mention Sarah Lynn was almost as tall as him? She was literally ten at the time. It was  _ hilarious.”  _ He chuckles. “Anyway, you know that thing fourth graders do, where they start climbing on benches and things trying to be taller?”

Her eyes widen. “You’re kidding.”

“Yeah, he did that. And by this point things are getting almost ridiculously silly, because we’re both just laughing our asses off, and he’s on top of a goddamn bookshelf, and I’m rolling around on the couch, and you know that script I was meant to be memorising? Yeah, by that point I’d actually kind of crumpled it by laughing so hard.”

She laughs. “Sounds fun.”

“It was. For a while.” He frowns. “You know, normally when I tell this story, I end it there. And then we can all pretend it had a happy ending. But real life doesn’t  _ have  _ happy endings, because there’s always more show.” He clears his throat. “The  _ actual  _ ending to that story is that Herb fell off a bookshelf and broke his leg.”

She winces sympathetically. “Oof.”

“Yeah. It turned out to be really bad. He was on crutches for a couple months. Which actually wasn’t that bad, because I was still closeted, obviously, but it gave me a good excuse to always be going over to his house to help him. Oh, and he couldn’t drive, obviously, so we had an excuse to ‘carpool’ to work.” His face falls. “I think about that a lot.”

“Well  _ someone’s  _ turned into an edgelord.” She chuckles. “You could give Trip a run for his money. So why do you think about this one specific incident, from twenty-three years ago, a ‘lot’?”

“I, uh -- It was chaos, you know? When he first fell, I mean. He screamed like a little girl, which, I mean, was probably justified with how bad it was, but still, you should have heard it. So I was just standing there, trying to figure out what to  _ do,  _ because obviously I wanted to help him but I couldn’t afford to get caught being gay, and then someone came in and asked what happened. And I was too freaked out to think of a lie, so I just said he fell off the bookshelf, and then they asked what the  _ hell  _ he was doing on the bookshelf in the first place and I had to think of a lie.”

She tilts her head. “And what’d you say?”

“That he thought he saw a strain on the ceiling and he was trying to get it out.” At her bemused look, he waves a hand dismissively. “Shitty excuse, I know, and I’m pretty sure half the staff thought we were somehow having sex, but I couldn’t think of anything better at the time. Anyway, so then two of the executives started arguing over whether it was worth the bad press to call an ambulance, because, I dunno, I think that’s all execs care about.”

“They sound like assholes.”

“Oh, trust me, they were. Herb was literally  _ writhing  _ in pain and these bitches were just trying to figure out what rumours people would think up if word got out that  _ Horsin’ Around  _ had to call an ambulance. Worst part is, they were so busy trying to figure that out and get the kids to calm down and avoid making a scene that they kinda forgot about the guy who was, you know,  _ writhing in pain.  _ Seriously, this was the 90s, I heard rumours whenever I looked in Herb’s general direction for too long, and that day I managed to actually  _ hold his hand  _ and nobody noticed.”

Her eyes widen. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. The only person who even noticed was Joelle and I just told her not to go spreading rumours.”

She tilts her head. “Who’s Joelle again?”

“Joelle Clarke, she plays Olivia.” His face falls. “So, eventually, the hair and makeup lady came and gave him a goddamn panadol, finally, and he calmed down a little and realised that he was actually full-on  _ squeezing  _ my hand. And he got all embarrassed and shit and apologised, and I was all, ‘no, it’s fine’, and he kept asking if I was  _ sure  _ it was alright, and I kept telling him it was fine even though he was kind of hurting my hand at this point, because, I mean, he needed it, right?”

“That was nice of you.”

“Yeah. It was.” He nudges a rock with his foot. “Anyway, a couple days later, I noticed that my hand was actually  _ bruised.  _ And I never told Herb. Because, I mean, I didn’t blame him for it, and it wasn’t really that bad, and I knew if he knew he’d just feel guilty about it. And, uh…” He sighs. “I dunno. Sometimes I worry that Herb does the same thing with me, except, like, emotionally.”

She looks at him. “So that’s why you’re not going back to California?”

“Yeah. That’s part of it.” He sighs. “Except, the problem is, it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. I don’t want to be a burden to Herb, so I hide all my problems from him, but then when he finally  _ does  _ find out it’s because I’ve been bottling it all up for too long and I end up having an outburst or doing something stupid, and then it  _ is  _ a burden to him. And then that’s a vicious cycle, you see, because when Herb finds out about how messed up I am and gets stressed about it, that teaches me that I should try and hide my problems from him. So then I bottle it up, and then I freak out, and it all just happens again.”

“Maybe you need to try, like, just having an honest discussion with him?” she suggests. “Just sit down and tell him what’s bothering you, before things get to the point where you’re having outbursts and freaking out?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty obvious, in theory. But how do you  _ do  _ it? Like, how could I even  _ begin  _ to explain half of the shit that goes through my stupid-ass head? Not to mention, it’ll still stress him out. How can I tell him how messed up I am without just making him upset?”

“I dunno.” She forces a laugh. “Glow sticks, maybe? He likes glow sticks.”

He chuckles, and takes a stray branch from the ground, bending it in half like how one would bend a glowstick. “Hey, Herb, look, it’s a pretty glow stick! I am literally on the verge of flying off the deep end, but look, it’s glowing! Go on, turn the light out, I want to kill myself, doesn’t it look so much better in the dark?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he’ll still hear the bad parts of those sentences.” She frowns. “But you know, you can’t just stay here and hide from him. You do know that, right? He’s probably worried sick. And, he  _ wants  _ you to be okay. I know that.”

“...Yeah.” A small smile creeps across his face. “Maybe I should go back there now.”

“At night? Are you  _ kidding?!”  _ She gives him an incredulous look. “You haven’t slept nearly enough for a thirteen-hour drive.”

“I mean, I don’t normally sleep well anyway. And if I leave in the morning, I won’t get there until evening and then I’ll only get a couple hours to hang out with him before we have to sleep. I’ll make myself some coffee for the way, it’ll be fine.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll be good.”

“Okay. Stay safe.”

With a nod, he stands up, and goes inside. He goes to the kitchen to start making the coffee for the way, then pauses. He takes out his phone and calls Herb.

“...BJ?” He sounds a little annoyed. “It’s, like, eleven at night.”

“Sorry,” he says quickly. “Hollyhock’s still there, right?”

“Yeah,” answers Herb sleepily. “I told her to maybe just go back to Kansas, but she was really insistent on saying goodbye to you in person.”

“Good.” He clears his throat nervously. “I’m, uh, I’m about to leave.”

“...Huh?”

“I’m about to come back to California.”

“...At night?”

“I’ll drink coffee on the way, it’ll be good. I should be there by, uh, a little after lunchtime.”

“Okay, if you’re sure. You sure you don’t want to wait until you’ve gotten some sleep?”

“I told you, babe, coffee. Besides, I’ve stayed here long enough.”

“Okay.” He audibly sighs. “Love you, BJ.”

“Love you too, baby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lemme tell you, it is really hard to find tv shows and the like that bj and herb would have been into as kids, since they grew up in the 60s/70s and im a literal gen z kid. 
> 
> the goodies was a british tv show my mum was into as a kid. the episode bj and herb talk about (where people knock each other out by hitting each other with black pudding) was called Kung Fu Kapers, my mum made me watch it recently because one of the creators or something died of covid. apparently someone genuinely did die laughing watching it. 
> 
> monty python and the hoy grail was a surreal comedy movie from 1975 which I only know about because my crazy-ass history teacher showed it to us in year 8 when we were learning about the middle ages.


	12. That's Too Much, Man!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BoJack returns to California.

It’s in the afternoon, a few minutes before Trip is due to come home from school, that she remembers.

She remembers his insistence on driving home late at night running on little to no sleep; she remembers him waving a hand dismissively and insisting he would be able to make it on coffee. Her eyes widen and she types him up a quick text, asking if he got home safely.

After two minutes with no response she begins to fear for the worst, but her anxiety is unfounded. He soon replies with a photo, specifically a selfie. He’s in a bathroom -- and it’s hard to be sure but if she had to guess, she’d say it’s the one in his house, confirming his safe return to California -- and holding up a peace sign, God, what a dork. 

The photo has a caption:  _ loving that cali lifestyle!!! _

She laughs fondly as she returns the phone to her pocket. Of  _ course  _ he’s loving that Cali lifestyle, at least as much as BoJack is capable of loving anything. BoJack lives and breathes the Cali lifestyle; a child of San Francisco and an adult of Ollywoo, it seems unlikely that he knows anywhere else. Though, she does vaguely remember he used to spend summers in Michigan, because his crazy-ass mom was so rich she owned  _ two  _ houses.

Must be nice.

Trip comes home and she runs to the door to greet him. “Hi, honey! How was school?”

“Fine,” he snaps, running off to his room to play video games.

She narrows her eyes. “Did you wear  _ those  _ jeans to school?”

He rolls his eyes and turns to face her. “Mom, it’s  _ fashionable.” _

“What, clothes with holes in them? This isn’t the 90s; grunge isn’t cool anymore.”

“Ugh, whatever.” He runs off to his room to play video games.

Then, her phone buzzes again, not even ten minutes after BoJack texted her. It’s a message from Herb.

_ bjs in hsopital _

* * *

The first time the phone rings, he’s happy to place it in the large bucket of things he ignores in the hope that they go away. He’s rather busy at the moment, anyway. Like, first he had to find an appropriate suspicious corner in the streets of Ollywoo to throw up in, and then he had to remove all of the food packaging from his car, and then he had to spend fifteen minutes sitting motionlessly in the driver’s seat staring blankly ahead of him, listening to his thoughts so that he remembers to  _ never do that again, you fat piece of shit. _

The second time the phone rings, he picks it up with a groan. “What do you want?”

“BoJack!” scolds Sarah Lynn. “I tried to call you  _ seventeen minutes  _ ago.” 

“I was busy.”

“What if I’d overdosed in a planetarium somewhere!? Seventeen minutes would have  _ killed  _ me!”

For a second his heart rate picks up, which is a little concerning, because it was already beating about as fast as it could from the last fifty cups of coffee.  _ “Did  _ you overdose in a planetarium somewhere? Because if you did, you should probably call an ambulance instead of me.”

“No, I’m good, I just -- I’ve had an  _ epiphany!”  _ He rolls his eyes. “The opposite of ‘whatever floats your boat’ is ‘whatever tips your ship’!”

“Cool,” he answers, in a tone that very clearly communicates that it is not cool. “Uh, thing is, I kinda  _ just  _ got to California, I’ve been driving for  _ hours,  _ and I have  _ not  _ slept, so I am kinda, you know, not in the mood for your reverse onion bullshit.”

“Jeez, sorry,” she answers defensively. “I guess I’ll get out of your mane now.”

She stops talking, but she seems to be waiting for him to hang up. He stares at the screen of his phone. The call time continues to go up.

“...Hey, Sarah Lynn?”

“Yeah?”

“Are…” He gulps. “Am I doomed? Are you doomed? Are we all  _ doomed?” _

It takes her a long time to respond. “I dunno. Maybe? Why are you asking?”

“I dunno. I haven’t slept enough and I’ve had  _ way  _ too much coffee. Just ignore me. Bye.”

He hangs up, and completes the drive home. Once he’s inside he’s bombarded with questions, mostly about the boat, and he ignores all of them in favour of going to the bathroom to piss out the last thirty coffees.

The annoying thing is, they keep asking him after he’s finished pissing out the last thirty coffees. The  _ nerve  _ of them. So, he waves a hand dismissively, and says, “When Charlotte asked what I was doing there I lied and said I was getting a boat, and, uh, it all kind of snowballed.”

“A  _ boat,”  _ Herb continues to say incredulously. “You brought a  _ boat  _ to avoid admitting you were hiding from your problems.”

“Eh, we’ll find some use for it. What  _ can’t  _ you do with a boat?” He grabs his thermos to down another gulp of coffee but Herb takes one look at his shaking hands and snatches the thing.

“You  _ need  _ to sleep.”

He waves a hand dismissively. “I can stay up until evening.”

“But  _ should  _ you?”

“Uh, I have to be at the airport in a few hours,” mutters Hollyhock nervously. “And I mean, who knows when we’ll see each other in person again? So…”

“So it’s decided,” says BoJack, already making more coffee. “I’ll stay up until Hollyhock can leave.”

The next few hours or so pass by in a haze of coffee and arguments. Not  _ real  _ arguments, like the “I know you cheated on me, you have a daughter” arguments or the “you need to call Sharona” arguments, but silly arguments, rather like the “I am  _ not  _ three feet tall” argument except without the part where Herb falls off a bookshelf. Most of them are about the specific rules of UNO, since they all grew up using  _ slightly  _ different sets of house rules and nobody can agree on whether you’re allowed to place down a Wild Draw Four as your final card, but some of them are about the most  _ inane  _ bullshit that could be solved with a two-minute Google search.

“He  _ must  _ be a firefly,” Herb insists. “That’s what the song’s called.”

“But the guy who wrote it is named Owl City!” protests Todd. “He’s  _ obviously  _ an owl.”

“No, no, he’s  _ got  _ to be a firefly.”

“Would a firefly name himself ‘Owl City’? Trust me, the guy’s an owl.”

“Guys,” interrupts Hollyhock. “I’m literally looking it up right now, and Herb, it’s been your turn for ten minutes.”

“Shit.” Herb’s eyes widen and he puts down a card. “Your turn, BJ.”

BoJack stares at the cards in his hands. They all sort of blur into a mish-mash of colour, and the fact that his hands are shaking too much to really pick one up isn’t helping, and shit, when did it get so  _ hot?  _ Hollyhock continues to settle Herb and Todd’s argument.

“He’s a human,” she explains flatly, showing her phone to them both.

“Seriously?!” chokes Todd. “His name is literally Owl City!”

“That’s not his real name. His real name is Adam Young, and I think he just thought owls were cool or something.”

“And the fireflies?” asks Herb.

“Uh…” She continues to research it. “Uh, I think the firefly thing is a metaphor for autism.”

“Seriously?!” 

Todd tilts his head. “So does that mean if you like the song, you must be autistic?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” insists Herb. “I’m not autistic, I just interpreted it literally. BJ, have you had your turn yet?”

“Uh…” He stares at the cards, trying to clear his blurry vision. The card on top of the pile is red, just like how the air feels, seriously, it’s  _ so  _ hot, someone go fix the thermostat, so he picks a red card at random from his deck and puts it down. 

Todd groans. Apparently the card was a draw two. He stands up, and  _ woah,  _ when did everything get so spinny? Wait, no, there’s a word for that, he’s dizzy. “I’m gonna go grab a drink.” 

He pulls up his pants as he walks to the kitchen,  _ finally some progress,  _ and leans against a doorframe,  _ don’t let it get to your head you’re still a fatass,  _ suddenly exhausted from the short walk. He catches his breath,  _ it’s so hot,  _ maybe some water will make him feel better, he grabs a glass, tries to fill it up but oh God his  _ hands,  _ stupid things, stop shaking, stop shaking stop shaking stop shaking,  _ am I doomed? _

He’s not entirely sure how it ends up above his head, but that’s where it is when he drops it, and a piece of stray glass scratches a line into his forehead. He instinctively touches the wound and his hand comes back bloody.  _ Shit. _

He sweeps up the glass with his hands and puts it in the bin, answer’s Herb’s concerned call with a vague mumble of breaking a glass and a joke about a lobotomy scar, and stumbles into the bathroom. He’s still dizzy. Everything seems to be going so _slowly,_ which is weird when his heart is beating _fast fast fast fast fast,_ he can feel the blood rushing through his ears with every beat of his stupid-ass heart, seriously, slow down, slow down slow down slow down, _are you doomed?_

His phone buzzes. It’s Charlotte, asking if he got home safe. Bitch. He messes with his mane so it covers the cut on his forehead, because that’s easier than explaining that he broke a glass somehow when he can barely see the keyboard on his phone to type an explanation, and takes a selfie, with a peace sign, which she’ll probably think is dorky but it’ll also make her think he’s okay.

He sends the selfie, with the caption  _ loving that cali lifestyle!!! _

He opens the medicine cabinet to look for a band-aid, but it’s  _ hard  _ because his legs are jelly and he can only use one hand because he has to use the other to lean on the sink, and he can’t see properly because he’s slouched over leaning on the sink and his eyes don’t quite meet the cupboard and it’s all blurry anyway and so  _ hot,  _ God, cool off, cool off cool off cool off,  _ are we all  _ **_doomed?_ **

He finally feels a rectangular box that he assumes must be the band-aids, but just as he’s taking it out to check, everything goes dark.

* * *

Hollyhock winces sympathetically. “Well, I’m never teasing people about being short again.”

“You shouldn’t,” Herb agrees. “Couldn’t walk for  _ months.  _ Second stupidest injury I’ve ever gotten.” At Todd’s raised eyebrow, he adds, “The  _ stupidest  _ injury was a couple seconds after that, when I bit my hand so I wouldn’t scream and scare Sarah Lynn. Still screamed, though. And scared Sarah Lynn.” He places down a card and turns to the empty seat next to him.

He frowns.

He’s about to ask where the  _ hell  _ BJ is when he hears a loud  _ thud. _ Automatically he stands up. “What the hell was that?”

“What the hell was what?” asks Todd.

“That thud,” answers Hollyhock. “Didn’t you hear it?”

Todd thinks for a moment. “Uh, yeah, I think I heard something.”

“It sounded like it was in the bathroom,” says Herb. Hesitantly, he goes upstairs to the bathroom. Todd shifts in his seat, preparing to stand up at a moment’s notice if he needs to; Hollyhock, even more prepared, stands up just in case, her head anxiously turned toward the stairs and ears perked up to listen.

Herb  _ screams.  _

In an instant Hollyhock’s dashed to the bathroom, and Todd’s right behind her, and Herb is a goddamn  _ mess.  _ He’s frozen in the doorway, and Hollyhock has to push him out of the way so she can  _ see what the problem is,  _ and he doesn’t even object to being pushed aside by a freaked out teenager, just  _ lets her through,  _ and oh  _ shit, that’s  _ why he screamed.

BoJack is lying unconscious on the bathroom floor, his mane and fur tinted red with blood that’s slowly pouring from his forehead, limbs spread out against the tile. Her first impulse is to kneel and place two fingers to his neck, like they taught her in health class, and it takes her too long to find it and she fears the worst, but finally, she mutters, “He’s got a pulse, but…” She doesn’t finish the sentence, because the pale man that’s currently frozen just to the side of the doorway probably doesn’t need to hear that it’s so  _ weak,  _ she can barely feel it, but also so  _ fast,  _ God, is he okay?

She hears Todd’s nervous voice behind her, saying, “Yeah, so, uh, we’ve got a horse that just collapsed,” and when she turns to figure out who he’s talking to she sees that he’s on the phone, probably calling emergency services, thank God, why didn’t she think of that? 

An ambulance shows up to cart BoJack to the nearest hospital, and the paramedics have to damn near  _ tear  _ Herb away from him and do some sort of complicated medical thing so he doesn’t  _ die,  _ and then the adrenaline starts to wear off and  _ what do we do now? _

When she vocalises this thought, Herb’s immediate response is, “Cry? Scream? Curl up into a ball in a corner of the room and stare blankly at a wall?”

Todd stares at him. “Uh, I think Hollyhock mean what do we do  _ about the problem,  _ but those are all pretty reasonable responses, so if you need to, I mean…”

“No, I’m -- I’m fine.” He is very clearly  _ not  _ fine. “Someone’d better text his other friends.”

Todd takes out his phone. “I can message, uh -- Mr. Peanutbutter, Diane, Princess Carolyn, and Sarah Lynn. Is there anyone else that needs to know?”

“There’s Charlotte, but -- but you don’t know her, so I guess I’ll just have to text her myself, even though  _ my hands are shaking too badly to type properly.”  _ It takes several tries to unlock his phone. 

Hollyhock gulps. “Uh…”

“What?”

She glances over his shoulder at the time. “Not to be adding more problems, but I  _ kinda  _ have to be at the airport, like,  _ now.” _

“Oh my God.” He groans.

“But I mean, I can reschedule! See, I’ll text my dads now, it’s really no --”

“No.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You were meant to go home now, you’re going home now.”

“But --”

“Your dads probably miss you to death. And --” He takes a deep breath. “You’re just a kid and when I break down, I don’t want you to be here to see it.”

She sniffles. “I wanted to say goodbye to him in person.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. But you’ve gotta go now.”

“...Okay.” She sighs. “I’ll call a cab.”

“No, I’ll drive you.”

“But --”

“Driving helps me de-stress. You’re doing me a favour.” He gulps. “Go get your stuff.”

She nods obediently. “Okay. And, uh -- make sure to give me updates via text.”

“I will.”

She ducks out of the room, and Herb lets his head swing back against a nearby wall.  _ Deep breaths.  _ On an impulse, he draws back his fist and hits the wall,  _ hard,  _ and it  _ hurts  _ but it also makes  _ sense,  _ when everything else is confusing, and it proves that he’s  _ here,  _ in  _ this  _ bathroom, and not a thousand miles away like he feels he must be.

Todd stares at him with wide eyes. “Woah, dude, you okay?”

He takes a deep breath. “No.”

* * *

The first thing he manages to choke out is, “He was on amphetamines?!”

Well, that was the third thing, if he’s being technical. The first thing was, “But it wasn’t even cold!”, at which point the doctor explained the difference between hypothermia and hyperthermia. Then he choked out, “But it wasn’t hot either!”, so the doctor explained that hyperthermia is a common result of drug overdoses.

He sits down on one of the chairs in the waiting room, makes himself  _ sit,  _ sit  _ still,  _ even though he wants to kick and bite and scream and get  _ away.  _ Desperate for some form of distraction, he checks his phone. Charlotte’s texted back, asking what’s wrong and expressing her confusion that he  _ just  _ texted her not even ten minutes ago, and his hands are too shaky to even respond, God, so he just calls her.

“Herb?!” she asks anxiously. “What happened to BoJack?”

“Accidental overdose,” he answers blankly. “Did you know he was using amphetamines?”

“Amphetamines?!” she chokes, which answers the question pretty clearly. “Oh my God, I had no idea. He -- he’d  _ just  _ texted me, not even ten minutes before you did. He sounded fine, he sent me a selfie and everything.”

“He seemed fine to us too,” he explains. “We were playing UNO, everything was fine, and then he got up to get a glass of water. He, he broke the glass and cut himself, so he went to go get a band-aid, and then he just  _ collapsed  _ in the bathroom.”

“Oh shit, he -- he was in the bathroom, in the selfie.” She audibly gulps. “Is he okay?!”

“We … we don’t know yet.” He groans. “Oh God,  _ how  _ did I not see this?!”

“Don’t blame yourself.”

“Easy for you to say. I swear to God, if he dies now, I am  _ never  _ going to forgive myself…” He clenches his fist that isn’t holding the phone, and that hurts a little for some reason. “And if he lives, I don’t know if I’m ever gonna forgive  _ him.” _

“Do you need me to come over there?”

“No, it’s -- it’s fine. Stay with Trip. Besides, it’ll take you a whole day to get here, and by then he might be fine.” He’d  _ better  _ be fine by then. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll, I’ll keep you updated, okay?”

“Okay. Call me if you need anything.”

“I -- I will.”

Time seems to slow to a crawl, every second stretching out into hours, and yet at the same time it all goes by in a blur of crying and hyperventilating and Todd trying to calm him down. When the ringing of his phone prompts him to check the time, he’s shocked by both how  _ long  _ it’s been and how little time has passed.

He answers the phone. It’s Sarah Lynn.

“I’d say, ‘suck a dick, dumb shit’, but I guess you don’t have any dick to suck right now.”

He’s not sure whether to laugh or cry. “That was not my first priority.”

“Why not? Sex is  _ cool.  _ Anyway, what’s up with BoJack? I just got Todd’s text.”

“Amphetamine overdose,” he answers blankly. “Did you know he was using amphetamines?”

“No, I called him a few hours ago and he seemed fine.” She pauses. “Well, I dunno if he was  _ fine,  _ he said some weird shit. Like, he got annoyed with me for calling him and I thought he was about to hang up, but then he just randomly asked if we were all  _ doomed.  _ I asked what he was on about, and he just said he’s had too much coffee and not enough sleep.”

“...Coffee.” His eyes widen. “Oh my God, amphetamines are stimulants. He was probably taking them to stay awake! I  _ told  _ him to just go to sleep.”

“Oof,” says Sarah Lynn. “Well, text me if anything happens, alright?”

“Okay.” He gulps and hangs up.

Eventually a nurse calls him into tell him that BoJack is still unconscious, and honestly is  _ very  _ lucky to be alive right now, but he’s most likely going to make a full recovery. He takes out his phone to text Charlotte, and Hollyhock, and Sarah Lynn, and this time it only takes two tries to unlock the damn thing. His hands are still shaking, but they’ve calmed down a little. He’s not sure if that’s because he’s less  _ scared out of his mind  _ now or if he’s just too  _ tired  _ to keep trembling uncontrollably.

He grips the phone like it’s his lifeline, and that  _ hurts  _ for some reason. Not emotionally -- God knows he couldn’t handle another blow to his mental stability today -- but physical, tangible pain, in his hand and fingers. Cautiously, he looks at his hand, and his mind flicks back to his damn near  _ tantrum  _ after Hollyhock left the room to grab her stuff, when he drew back his arm and punched the wall with all of his strength in a desperate attempt to get out the nervous energy. 

His hand is bruised.

“...Huh.”


	13. Before You Lead A Horse To Water, You Have To Walk A Mile In His Shoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BoJack and Herb deal with the aftermath of BoJack's overdose.

He thinks some part of him always knew it would end like this.

Well, not like _this_ specifically. He thought it would end with the dramatic, beautifully tragic realisation that he was just born broken, inherently hazardous to the people around him, and the only option was to die. And he’d starve to death, or maybe commit suicide in some appropriately glamorous way, and Herb would cry his eyes out at the funeral and then just _move on,_ and he’d die having left no serious impact on the people in his life, with not one single person he knows better off for having known him.

Wow, Charlotte was right. He _is_ turning into an edgelord.

He didn’t think it would end like _this_ specifically. He didn’t think it’d end so _soon,_ just as he was thinking that _maybe_ everything would somehow be okay. He didn’t think he’d survive the initial collapse, and end up having to hold his tongue every time some annoying doctor went into a spiel about how he’s _so lucky to be alive_ and shit, because they’ll probably throw him in a looney bin or some bullshit if he points out that his survival is actually just a stroke of _horrific_ misfortune. He didn’t think he’d be bullshitting his way through their questions, because he can’t let them find out and make him _stop_ just when he’s _finally_ made some progress, as he waits for them to give him the all-clear for visitors, because Herb’s probably worried sick, and also he needs to make _sure_ nobody’s touched his coffee, because he’s pretty sure he’d finished most of his thermos by the time he collapsed and he left the rest in the boat, but he needs to _check._

And most of all, he didn’t expect it to end with an amphetamine overdose.

 _Amphetamine overdose._ He shudders at the mere _thought_ of it. He knew that he had to be careful with them, just as he would with any non-prescription drug, but, well, Sarah Lynn probably took more amphetamines than him combined with basically every other drug under the sun, and she’s _way_ smaller than him, so it would be fine, right? And, well, they _worked._ They made him stop being so goddamn hungry all the time, and they kept him awake when he was running on a half hour of sleep and a few mouthfuls of breakfast that Hollyhock made him eat that had probably been fully purged from his system when he threw up, and God knows he needed more than your average caffeine to make the thirteen-hour drive from Tesuque to Ollywoo and then stay awake until Hollyhock’s flight.

Shit, Hollyhock’s flight. He’s not sure exactly what time it is now, because everything’s a little blurry and he spent a few hours drifting in and out of consciousness, but the last time he asked a nurse said it was around eight in the evening.

_Great. Either you made her stay in L.A. even longer, or you made her stay for a month just waiting to say goodbye in person and then she couldn’t even do that. Way to go, fatass._

_God,_ the amphetamines were a mistake. They were a goddamned miracle worker, but he wasn’t careful enough with them, and now he’s ended up in bloody hospital. The risk he took was calculated, but _shit,_ he’s bad at math.

He’s halfway through staring at the IV drip in his arm and wondering if he could kill himself by tearing it out when a nurse comes in to inform him that the doctors have given him the all-clear for visitors, and a Mr. Herb Kazzaz is _very_ eager to see him.

Herb comes in a few moments later, and within an instant he’s at his bedside, pinching his cheeks and caressing his face and generally being _too much_ like he’s Charlotte greeting Penny after graduation. “BJ, you _idiot --_ you scared the _shit_ out of me, could have _died -- never_ do that again, you _asshole,_ I swear to God, I was so scared --”

“Nice to see you too, babe,” he mutters. 

“I was _terrified._ The doctors all said it was a miracle you pulled through! It took them hours just to stabilize you, I thought you were going to _die._ Don’t you _ever_ scare me like that again!”

“I won’t,” says BoJack guiltily. He sighs. “Oh my God, Herb, I -- I wasn’t trying to OD, I swear. I thought I’d be okay. I’m _so_ sorry for putting you through that.”

And Herb forces a chuckle like it’s all some _hilarious_ misadventure and frantically gestures that it’s _no big deal_ and says, “No, don’t beat yourself up, it’s _fine,_ I’m just glad you’re okay, but really, I don’t blame you, it’s _fine,”_ but the hand he waves dismissively is bruised, and it’s just _impossible_ for BoJack to not notice it.

And, it probably doesn’t help that as much as they try to laugh it off and hide all the fear and confusion and pain behind declarations of being so _glad_ he’s okay, at some point, Herb’s going to have to ask him _the question._

It’s a little over two minutes of hugging and kissing and exchanging _I love yous_ before he brings it up.

“So, uh -- amphetamines, huh?” He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I, uh, I didn’t realise.”

“Yeah, I, uh -- I put them in my coffee because, um, I was having trouble getting enough sleep.”

Herb narrows his eyes. BoJack wilts under his glare.

“You know, uh,” says Herb anxiously. “While you were still unconscious, they told me everything that was wrong with you, and it wasn’t just an overdose.”

 _Great. Here we go._ He flops back into his bed. “They told me too, you don’t need to --”

“You’re pretty severely anemic,” Herb begins to list. “Your teeth are basically _screwed,_ and you’re _definitely_ going to have to be making a few dentist appointments after you’re discharged. You’ve lost too much weight in a short period of time. Also, your liver’s a mess, but that’s pretty normal for you.”

“Are you just gonna stand there and list everything that’s wrong with me?”

Herb stares at him with concern. “The doctors said, uh -- that they thought you hadn’t been eating properly.”

 _Oh shit._ BoJack avoids eye contact. “I’ve been trying to lose weight.”

There’s a flash of _something_ in Herb’s eyes, something that BoJack would like to think is concern but realistically is probably closer to pity. “BJ --”

“Don’t,” he practically snarls. “Don’t make this a whole thing, okay? I’m just trying to lose weight, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“There can be something wrong with the _ways_ you’re doing it,” says Herb cautiously. “Like, what _happened_ to your teeth?”

“I haven’t really been brushing them.” Which is true. He’s been too depressed to brush his teeth for probably a week by now, which now that he thinks about it is probably bad. 

“Yeah, I told them you can be bad about that. They said that … wasn’t it.”

BoJack shifts uncomfortably in his bed.

“BJ, you know you can tell me anything, right?”

BoJack barely resists the urge to outright scoff at this, because that’s just _bullshit._ Herb can _listen_ to anything, and hug him and tell him everything’s going to be okay in reference to anything, but BoJack can’t just _tell_ him. That’s an entirely different beast.

He sighs. “I mean, I _have_ been eating.”

“Have you been eating _enough?”_

“...Maybe?” he answers hopefully. “I mean, I think all the times I lose my shit and binge junk food probably even it all out.”

This, according to the look Herb gives him, is evidently not the right answer.

Herb raises a _bruised_ hand to his temples and closes his eyes. “God. I am _so_ sorry. How did I not notice you were struggling?”

“I don’t know,” answers BoJack. “I mean, I was trying to hide it. And you haven’t seen me in person for two months, and the last time you did we were fighting.”

“I guess sometimes when you’re seeing red from anger, all the red flags just look like flags.” He clears his throat nervously and opens his eyes. “So, the amphetamines --”

“Yeah. They were appetite suppressants.” He gulps. “I’m sorry, Herb.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Herb insists, moving his _bruised_ hand back to his side. “You don’t need to apologise for struggling. And it’s _fine!_ I’ll help you recover, it’ll be okay, I’ve actually been looking at rehab --”

“Woah.” He holds up a hand to stop Herb’s train of thought. “Uh, I’m not so sure about that.”

“Not so sure about _what?_ Recovering? Because I mean, once you nearly die I’m not so sure you should get a choice in the matter.”

“I didn’t die, though.”

“Let’s keep it that way. And, it was a miracle you survived in the first place.”

“You don’t _get_ it.” He sits up. “Do you have any _idea_ how long it took to actually start losing weight?! How much _effort?_ I mean, if it takes me that long to lose weight when I’m barely eating, then if you send me to some _insane asylum_ where they shove food down my throat then I’ll probably gain it all back, and, and I’m _still fat--”_

“That’s not how it works.” His frown deepens. “BJ, if you don’t get help, you might _die._ You know that, right?”

“Hey, I’m nowhere _near_ starving to death. It was the overdose that nearly killed me.”

Herb takes a deep breath. “Then, we’ll deal with the drug problem.”

BoJack stiffens. “I’m not an alcoholic,” he says automatically. Herb just raises an eyebrow.

“BJ, you’re literally on a controlled substance right now, because if you try to go off alcohol cold turkey then you could _die_ of shock.”

BoJack remains silent.

“You’re _scared,_ aren’t you?” Herb presses. “Is that why you don’t want to go to rehab?” At BoJack’s small, meek nod, he adds, “BJ, I can’t imagine what you have to be scared of, but trust me, whatever it is, it’s _worth the risk.”_

BoJack doesn’t respond.

Herb sighs. “Look, I, uh -- I know you don’t really have the greatest opinion of yourself.” Understatement. “But _I_ love you, okay? Even if you don’t love yourself, I care about you. And if you can’t recover for yourself, then do it for me, okay?” His voice starts to break, and he says, “God knows I can’t take another scare like that,” and BoJack can’t figure out why that makes him so _angry._

Later months and some self-reflection will let him realise that he’s not angry at all, just _guilty._ The reminder that he’s _hurting Herb,_ which is pretty much the only reason he cares about being in hospital at all, makes him feel a fresh surge of guilt, and he doesn’t _want_ to feel that way, so he blames the person who’s making him feel guilty, and he lashes out. “Oh, so _that’s_ what this is about.”

Herb flinches. “What?”

“You know, how _you_ feel. So I’m _very_ sorry, Herb, for not thinking more about how my eating disorder is _inconvenient_ for you.”

 _“Inconvenient?!”_ repeats Herb incredulously. “It was _traumatic!_ I thought you were going to _die._ I thought everything was _fine,_ and then I heard this weird _thud_ noise, so I went to the bathroom and you were _lying_ there. Todd had to call an ambulance because I was too scared to do anything!”

“See? Of course, it’s all about _you.”_

“No.” He’s genuinely angry by this point. “You don’t _get_ to do that. You don’t get to just go and nearly _die_ being a goddamned _idiot_ and act like that’s not _incredibly_ traumatic for the people who love you! Especially when you _still_ haven’t gotten over the time I had cancer.”

BoJack stiffens. “Don’t. _Don’t_ talk about that. I _never_ want to think about that again!”

“Oh, so it’s okay for _you_ to be traumatised when _I_ almost die, but not the other way around?! Am I meant to be _happy_ about this?! Can’t I even _mention_ that it’s kinda shitty when my husband ends up in hospital and nearly _dies?”_

“Don’t act like this is so awful for _you,”_ snaps BoJack. _“I’m_ the one that has to keep bottling everything up for _months!”_

“Oh, I _pray_ for the day that you _don’t_ bottle everything up because you have a _single_ healthy coping method!”

“Well, I’m very _sorry_ about how _inconvenient_ it is that I didn’t learn some more healthy coping methods during my _incredibly traumatic childhood --”_

“You moved out _thirty-nine years ago!”_ yells Herb. “You could have gone to therapy and learnt some good coping skills at _any_ point in the last thirty-nine years, and I have been doing _nothing_ but trying to help you, but you always refused! And you’re not the only one with a traumatic childhood -- I watched my mom die in front of me when I was four, remember?!”

 _“Once!”_ Herb moves a _bruised_ hand to his mouth in shock, and BoJack knows that this is probably the point where he should shut up and apologise, but he keeps going. “Your mom died in front of you _once,_ and then you got carted off to the assholes that adopted you and it was _over!_ I would _love_ if all my childhood trauma was over before I started kindergarten and I wasn’t constantly having _breakdowns_ over it forty years later!”

Herb looks genuinely _hurt_ for a moment, _way to go you asshole BoJack,_ but then he glares. “Well, I would _love_ to be able to have a _breakdown_ over it forty years later!” he chokes out. “In fact, you know what? I’d love to have a breakdown _at all_ without having to _constantly_ worry about whether it’ll send _you_ into a spiral!”

“Oh, you’d _love_ this?” challenges BoJack. “You’d _love_ to have an eating disorder?!”

Herb steps back. “That’s not what I said.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’d _love_ to live my life. You’d _love_ to spend two months hiding in New Mexico because you don’t know how to explain to your husband that you’re _starving yourself!_ You’d _love_ to be drunk twenty-four-seven because you _can’t_ face how much you hate yourself sober! You’d _love_ to end up in hospital with your husband telling you off about how almost dying is _traumatic_ to the people who love you, which is _bullshit,_ by the way, because you are the _only_ person on this miserable planet who is _stupid_ enough to love me!”

Herb frowns. “BJ--”

“Would you _love_ to be me?” BoJack continues. “Would you _love_ to hate yourself, and your life, and every moment of your miserable existence?! Would you _love_ to think about killing yourself constantly?! Would you _love_ to lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out if you were just _born broken --”_

_“I already do!”_

He’s not sure when Herb started crying, but he sees the tears streaming down his face in the several long, painful seconds that pass while they just try to catch their breath from all the yelling. 

“I already _do,”_ Herb repeats, quietly and yet viciously. “And I can’t just get drunk every time I feel like shit because I have to be responsible for you, so I try some _healthy_ coping methods like hanging out with my loved ones, and that ends up being an even _better_ distraction than drinking, because, I mean, I can’t be busy thinking about whether I was _born broken_ when I’m constantly trying to _save_ you!”

BoJack gulps.

Herb gestures around at the room with his hands, one of which is _bruised._ “This is traumatic. That’s all I’m saying, okay? That the shit you put me through when you end up almost dying is _traumatic._ And if you really care about me, then you’ll take this as an opportunity to _seek help,_ because I _cannot_ keep sacrificing my own mental health to save you.”

BoJack shifts uncomfortably in his bed. “It was never your job to save me.”

“Then _why_ do you always make me feel like it is?”

There’s a long, painful silence.

Herb hangs his head in shame. “Look, I’m -- I’m sorry I yelled at you. You should rest.”

“But --”

“I’m not gonna make you stay awake talking to me any longer.” He pushes the door open with his _bruised_ hand, and makes a swift exit.

* * *

“Sometimes I feel like I’m living in a bubble.” He downs another glass. “And there’s this _disconnect_ between me and everyone else, y’know? And none of it, none of it makes _sense,_ ‘cause all the people know all the _stuff_ and I, I don’t know that stuff. And they all act like it comes natural, and you’re meant to just _know,_ so nobody ever teaches you.” He downs another shot. “People don’t make _sense_ to me. But _you…_ ” He grins. “You make sense, y’know?”

Judah Mannowdog stares at him. “I cannot possibly fathom how that could be the case.”

“Eh, it’s … it’s _you,_ y’know?” Herb continues to slur. “I know I just met you in this bar twenty minutes ago, but I feel like you’re a true _friend_ to me.”

“I also find you to be an adequate companion,” says Judah flatly. “Your presence improves my overall drinking experience. You’re enjoyable to converse with, you have an admirable sense of humour, and you don’t sing unless provoked.” He watches as Herb finishes his last glass. “Can I buy you another drink?”

Count that as Herb being provoked. _“Nah, nah,”_ he sings terribly. _“Honey I’m good, I could have another but I prob’ly shouldn’t --”_

“Please,” says Judah flatly. “I am literally begging you to stop.”

Herb rolls his eyes. “Y’know, I invented rickrolling.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“It was, it was 1987. I was tryna prank m’ good friend BoJack, who, as you know, is now my husband who is in hospital because I couldn’t save ‘im, and I tried to prank him by playing super loud music when he was tryna sleep. And, and do you know what song I chose?”

“Based on context, it’s clear you’re referring to Rick Astley’s hit single _Never Gonna Give You Up.”_

Herb performs a downright horrific acapella rendering of the intro to this song, then pats Judah on the back. “Never change, buddy. You’re my, you’re my best friend.” He stands up. “I gotta go. I hafta make a call.”

Judah says his goodbyes as Herb stumbles out of the bar. It’s already dark out, and he _really_ should have planned a lift home, but oh well, he can afford a cab. He leans against the outer walls and takes out his phone. His hand is still bruised; the mark hasn’t gone away. How rude of it.

He makes the call.

“Uh, Herb?” says Todd’s voice. “You okay? You kinda ghosted us after you talked to BoJack.”

“Y-Yeah, I’m good, I’m good,” he slurs. “Hey, you, y’know what’s weird? Phone calls.”

There’s a short pause. “Are you drunk?”

Herb doesn’t answer. “It’s like, when I was a kid, my parents were always all like, ‘You gotta look at us so we know you’re listening’, but now you can’t even see the person and you’re meant to just _trust_ that they’re listening? Sounds like bullshit.”

“Yeah, you’re _definitely_ drunk.”

Herb looks up at the stars. “Hey, Todd?”

“Yeah?”

“What the _hell_ is up with eye contact?” he slurs. “It’s like, you gotta do it to get a job and shit, but it doesn’t make _sense._ People have _two_ eyes, dumbass, you can’t look at _both_ of them. I can’t be the first person to notice this problem.” He pauses, staring at his blurry hands. “Woah, am I meant to look at both of them at once? Are my eyes broken?”

“What?” He groans audibly. “No, you’re just meant to, like, switch between each eye every couple seconds. Did you _seriously_ not know that?”

Herb’s eyes widen. “I have been waiting for someone to explain that to me for the last fifty-six goddamn years.”

“...Are you okay?”

“...” He gulps. “I don’t know.”

“What’s wrong?”

He stands up straight and kicks a stray rock on the ground. “‘M worried ‘bout BJ. He, he won’t go to rehab because he’s a big stupid idiot head, and, and he _needs_ help but he won’t do it, Todd, and I can’t keep tryna save ‘im myself, I _can’t…”_

“Hey, I get it. Want some advice?”

Herb nods, then remembers Todd can’t see him. Phone calls are stupid. “Yeah, that’d be good.”

“You’re right that BoJack needs help, but you can’t take it personally when he’s defensive about it. It’s like -- Before you lead a horse to water, you’ve got to walk a mile in his shoes.”

“No way.” He shudders. “BJ always wears _converse._ I hate it. It’s like, sneakers were _never_ meant to include your ankles.”

“Yeah, I didn’t mean that literally.” He sighs. “There’s got to be a _reason_ BoJack won’t get help, you know? I don’t know, maybe he’s scared. And it’s okay if you’re frustrated with him, but it’s not about you when he gets defensive over it. So just, I dunno, do something that makes you happy and give yourself a break from BoJack for a few hours, and then try talking to him about it tomorrow.”

Herb considers this. “Something that makes me happy? Like, hanging out with people who say I don’t sing unless provoked?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Or maybe like, I dunno… glow sticks? BoJack says you like glow sticks.”

Count that as Herb being provoked. “Hey, hey Todd?”

“Yeah?”

“Hey Todd? Todd, Todd, Todd, hey, hey, hey Todd?”

“What?”

_“You would not believe your eyes, if ten million flyre-fyes…”_

* * *

“I’m gonna be honest, I didn’t expect Herb to leave your side.”

BoJack shifts uncomfortably in his bed. “We had a fight.”

Her eyes widen. “And he chose _now_ to pick a fight with you?”

“No, no, it was my fault.” He sighs. “It was my fault. He wanted me to get help and I got all defensive, so I kept putting words in his mouth and getting mad until he got all pissed at me for being a dickhead.”

She stares at him. “Well, that was shitty.”

“Yeah. I know.” He gulps. “Nice haircut. Really brings out your neck.”

Diane runs a hand through her now short hair. “Thanks.”  
  
“Herb told me about, uh, the divorce.” He shifts uncomfortably. “I was gonna call you, you know, see how you were doing … but then I didn’t.”

She chuckles. “That’s exactly what I thought you’d say."

He laughs along, then frowns. “He… He said I always made him feel like it was his job to _save_ me. But I _never_ said that! I never asked him to save me, I was perfectly happy to wallow in my own misery indefinitely. Why did he decide to make it his job to fix me, and then blame me for it? Makes _no_ sense.”

Diane grimaces. “...Uh, BoJack?”

“What?”

She hesitates, then sighs. “You know, there was this one time I got really annoyed with Mr. Peanutbutter, because he _never_ washed the dishes. It _always_ ended up being my job. One day, I brought it up with him, and he tried to defend himself by saying he never _said_ I had to do it.”

“Wll, did he?”

“No.”

“Then I mean, he kinda had a point.”

“I thought so too, maybe. So, I did a bit of an experiment.” Her tone becomes low and conspiratorial. “I just _stopped_ washing the dishes. I didn’t tell him to do it, I just didn’t do it myself.”

“...And then he did them, and you learned a valuable lesson about waiting for him to do stuff before you get upset with him for not doing it?”

“Nope.” She shakes her head. “After around forty-eight hours, I caved and did them because it was just getting too excessive. I pointed it out to him, and he said he didn’t think they _needed_ washed, even though there were _literally_ no plates left.”

“Huh.” He frowns. “What does this have to do with me and Herb?”

“Look, BoJack, it’s like this: If a job needs doing, and you don’t do it, then whether you mean to or not, you’re making it someone else’s responsibility.” She gestures around at the room. “When Mr. Peanutbutter doesn’t wash the dishes, it makes it my job, because there’s nobody else to do it. And when you don’t take care of yourself, you make it Herb’s job, because if he doesn’t take on the responsibility of babysitting you then you just spiral out of control.”

“...Huh.” His face falls. “I’m a real asshole, huh?”

“Well, yeah, you are, sometimes.”

“I know I should go to rehab,” he explains. “I’m just -- I’m _scared._ I mean, what if I go to rehab and check all the boxes and I _still_ can’t face my life sober? Or if I _do_ sober up, and then _nothing_ changes, and I’m still the same shitty person except without the alcohol to blame?”

“That … is a possibility,” she says, grimacing. “But it’s not very likely, because, you see -- BoJack, your problem is that you act like it’s not your _fault_ you can be such an asshole. It’s just some _thing_ that’s wrong with you. But, the thing is, your character is decided by your actions, and _you_ control your actions. If you want to be a good person, you have to do good things. And right now, the _good_ thing is to take a risk so you don’t keep hurting your husband.”

“...Yeah.” He sighs. “That’s not all, though. I mean, it sounds stupid, but -- I don’t want to be _alone_ for that long, you know?” He gulps. “I mean, I was alone my whole life, basically, until Herb and I started dating. I think if it wasn’t for him I’d probably be even more of a wreck than I already I am. He taught me how to love, and he taught me how to _be_ loved. And I mean, I know I can write to him and stuff, but I don’t want to spend months living with a bunch of people I don’t even _know,_ you know? He rubs his arm nervously. “I think I’d just be less nervous about this whole thing if, like, there was someone I _knew_ there.”

Diane grins. “I might have an idea for how to help with that.”

* * *

He cuts the string.

The helium brings them up now that there’s nothing binding them to the large rock they were tied to, and he _knows_ it’s bad for the environment but who _cares?_ He watches as the balloons float further and further away from him, until he can only see them at all because of the faint green glow attached to each one, making them stand out even more against the night sky.

When his phone rings, it rather ruins the moment.

He checks the caller ID and answers the call. “Hey, Diane.”

“You okay?” she asks nervously. “BoJack said you had a fight and nobody’s seen you since.”

“Yeah, I’m, uh, I’m good, just…” He frowns. “Do you think you could pick me up? I’m too drunk to drive home.”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” She clears her throat. “So, um, BoJack just went to sleep. They’re not letting anyone see him at the moment, he needs to rest. But I had a chat with him, and he wanted me to pass on a message.”

Herb gulps. “What is it?”

“He’s going to rehab.” He gasps aloud and she continues. “I managed to talk him into it by making him see how he was making it your job to look after him all the time, because, I mean, _someone_ has to do it and he obviously doesn’t care too much about himself. But, he said he doesn’t want to keep hurting you, so he’s going to rehab.”

He breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you _so_ much.”

“That’s not all.” She pauses. “He _wants_ to sober up, he really does. But he’s scared, you know? So we talked, and we came up with a compromise, and, um… Basically, he’s going to rehab, but there’s one condition.”

* * *

“I don’t know _how_ you asswipes talked me into this.”

Herb glances at her through the rear view mirror, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “BJ said he’d only go to rehab if you came, so I found a way to make it happen.”

“But rehab _sucks,”_ whines Sarah Lynn.

BoJack leans back in his seat. “Yeah, I know. It’s gonna suck. But it’s for the best.”

The car screeches to a halt in the car park. “Well, here we are. Do you need help checking in, or are you two alright from here?”

“We’ll be good,” insists Sarah Lynn, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ve done this before.” She undoes her seatbelt, then stares at BoJack. “Oh shit, this is your first trip to Sober City, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Anything I should know before we start?”

“The first week is the _worst,”_ she explains. “Seriously, withdrawal is a _bitch._ You’re gonna spend basically the whole first week Joelle-ing up the place.”

Herb pinches the bridge of his nose. “Please tell me ‘Joelle-ing up the place’ isn’t a euphemism for what I think it is.”

“It’s all aboard the train to puke-town from here, baby!”

BoJack turns in his seat to stare at her. _“Why_ am I friends with you?”

“I dunno. Oh, also, everyone gives you the _weirdest_ look if you mention that you can tell bear fur by taste.”

“Why? I thought everyone could do that.” He pauses. “Wait, _all_ bears? Even -- wait, hang on, what type of bear are we talking about here?”

Herb shoots him an offended look. _“Fur?!”_

BoJack undoes his seatbelt and takes a deep breath. “I’m gonna miss you, babe.”

“I’ll miss you too,” says Herb. He clears his throat. “But, after this is over, you’ll be even better, and then there’ll be _nothing_ to keep us apart.”

BoJack grimaces. “...Yeah.”

“Promise me you’ll write.”

“I will. And you’ll visit?”

“Of course.” He places a hand on BoJack’s shoulder and forces a laugh. “Okay, can we wrap this up? Because I don’t want to cry in public.”

“Ugh,” moans Sarah Lynn. “You guys are so sappy, it’s killing me.”

BoJack opens his door to exit the car. He stands outside, leaning on the vehicle, for several moments. _Deep breaths. This is scary but it’s for the best._

Herb, on an impulse, exits the car as well, just to embrace BoJack in a tight hug. “I love you, BJ.”

“I love you too.”

Sarah Lynn pretends to gag while they hug for several moments, and when they finally separate, Herb wipes his eyes. “So much for that not crying in public thing.”

“Yeah.” He sighs. “This isn’t even a goodbye, really, you know? We’ll see each other again really soon, I’ll let you know when you can visit.”

“Yeah.” He takes a deep breath. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

And with that, BoJack finally tears his eyes away from Herb, and turns toward the building.


	14. Writing Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BoJack and Sarah Lynn write letters.

Dear Herb,

Baby, if you ever loved me, then you have GOT to help me right now. I am having an EMERGENCY. I need help, this is life or death! As soon as you get this letter, you HAVE to do this for me: Get on the Internet and find google translate or whatever it is, and find out what the word “kabayo” means.

Okay, for context, there’s this Filipino girl in rehab, and a couple days ago she stubbed her toe and yelled “ay kabayo!”. And then Sarah Lynn got all excited and asked what that meant and if it was a swear word, because, you know, swearing in a bunch of languages is good apparently. And then the girl whispered something in Sarah Lynn’s ear, and now Sarah Lynn keeps calling me a kabayo and then laughing? And I don’t know what it means but I feel like it’s not a good thing because, I mean, who yells good things when they stub their toe? Like nobody stubs their toe and then says “The smell of fire on the first really cold night of winter!” that just doesn’t happen. Except with Jesus. Jesus is apparently a good thing but people blame him when they stub their toes so who knows? I don’t think Sarah Lynn would call me Jesus though.

Anyway, I’m in “writing therapy” right now. Which is why I’m writing to you. I swear to God, these asswipes just slap the word “therapy” after every activity and that’s somehow meant to turn it into some bullshit mental health thing. How the hell is writing letters therapy? I dunno but they get all pissed at you if you don’t do all the stupid bullshit they want you to do so I just go along with it. 

And let me tell you, there is SO much stupid bullshit they want me to do here. It would be fine if it was just, like, one or two stupid things. Like, I thought it would just be therapy and group therapy but it’s a whole bunch of bullshit! We’ve got writing therapy, obviously, and there’s also art therapy, plant therapy, and - you will not BELIEVE this bullshit - we have HIKE therapy.

Hike therapy! How is it therapeutic to walk?! I used to walk all the time at home and it never made me feel better. Like, I would walk from the bedroom to the bathroom, or from the living room to the kitchen, or from the front door to the car. But they want me to do so MUCH walking here! For hike therapy you’ve gotta walk up a whole bullshit mountain, and if you get tired and give up halfway through then they note down that you’re “resisting treatment” and then Dr. Champ asks you why you didn’t finish the hike the next time you have “horse therapy”. It’s so annoying! Like, he always thinks it must be because I don’t have enough energy from not eating enough, or because I have trouble with long-term thinking and don’t like doing things that don’t bring immediate satisfaction. Can’t it just be that I’m a lazy asshole?

Oh yeah, forgot to mention. Dr. Champ’s the therapist here, who is an officially licensed therapist in this universe. I don’t know why I felt the need to specify that but he is SO annoying! He’s all like “how do you FEEL about (xyz bullshit)?” and “have you tried using some coping methods that aren’t drugs?” Sarah Lynn and I basically spend all our time together bitching about him. He keeps going on about how he sobered up because he was scared of his husband leaving him and Sarah Lynn just says he should have stayed drunk and kept “putting the bi in kabayo”. I don’t know what that means but based on context I feel like it’s an insult.

Oh yeah, Sarah Lynn! She’s doing good. Maybe even better than me. She’s better with this whole thing since she’s done it before. She agrees that most of the stupid bullshit we do here is bullshit, though. Except art therapy. I think it’s bullshit but she actually enjoys it, can you imagine? She’s actually surprisingly good at painting. Like, you’d think she’d just be sniffing the paint fumes to get high but she’s actually good at it. She mostly paints, like, the night sky or some bullshit. Or houses. She’s got this weird house fetish. She’s into architecture or something.

I am so not into art therapy. I’m a shitty artist. I can barely draw a circle and these asswads want me to draw a “representation of anxiety”? Also I’m still annoyed about how they made me use pencil and paper for a week because I got caught trying to snort the paint. Such bullshit am I right?

I don’t really like any of the fake “therapy” bullshit we do here except writing “therapy”. And plant therapy’s okay too, I guess. We’ve basically just gotta look after plants which isn’t that bad. Did you know there’s a flower named hollyhock? I got eight of them and named them after Hollyhock’s last names, it was hilarious. Except I keep forgetting which one is Manheim and which one is Mannheim. I’m thinking of getting more but I mean, what would I call them? There’s “Holly” and “Hock” obviously but what do I do after that? I don’t want to give her any nicknames because I know how sibling nicknames can snowball out. Like how you used to call your little sister “cupcake” and now long story short, “prickly muffin” is slang for vagina.

Oh, and you know what the biggest bullshit is? Well apart from hike therapy, it’s group therapy. It’s just like regular therapy, where you have to go on and on about your life and your trauma and your feelings, except the whole group is there so everyone knows about the time you got the shit beat out of you for being late home from school after you got detention. And I mean, there’s a lot of people so you can usually get away with not talking, but you can only do that with one or two sessions before Dr. Champ starts getting on your ass about it.

And boy is Dr. Champ getting on my ass about it. He keeps saying I shouldn’t be ashamed of all the shit my parents did to me because it wasn’t my fault. Sarah Lynn’s the same, she says that it’s always okay to feel and/or plead guilty about shitty things you did in the past but you should never be ashamed of who you are. Such bullshit.

Oh, and I just remembered. Every Wednesday is Family & Friends day. So, yeah, you can visit if you want. Not saying you have to. I mean, it’s a long drive, you don’t have to come. But, I mean, if you want to come, then that would be nice. I miss you.

Something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately is that unless I make some sort of miraculous insta-recovery I’m probably still going to be here during the whole New Year thing. It’s probably going to be the first time I’m sober for New Years in decades. Remember that thing I always used to do, where I’d go on a three-day bender to celebrate New Years Eve and also my birthday? Come to think of it, that was almost always more than three days.

You know, as weird as it is, I’m actually kinda seeing the benefits of being sober. Like, I’m looking forward to actually being able to remember my birthday. And I’m sure you’ll enjoy getting to actually celebrate the whole New Year thing instead of having to be my designated driver/babysitter. Make sure you stay safe, okay? Your alcohol tolerance has probably gone to shit since you can never get drunk because you always have to look after me.

People keep asking me what my New Year’s resolution’s gonna be. I don’t really have one. I think the whole thing’s stupid, because, I mean, you can make a resolution at any time, why do you have to wait until the Earth’s moved around the sun a bunch of times? 

Yesterday in “horse therapy”, which, by the way, is literally just therapy where the therapist happens to be a horse, Dr. Champ asked me what my New Year’s resolution is, and I didn’t have an answer so I just said it was to recover. And he went on this whole spiel about how recovery is a process and it’s probably gonna take more than a year for me to be “fully recovered” which isn’t really a thing. Which kinda sucks.

I don’t really see the point in the whole New Year’s thing, really. Like that “2020 vision” joke. Remember in 2015 when people started saying “Don’t ask me where I see myself in 5 years, I don’t have 2020 vision”? Toward the end of the year everyone made the joke way more because they apparently wouldn’t get another chance. But then the next year they just changed the joke so it said 4 years. I think that’s basically what the entire New Year’s thing is about, really. In December everyone starts freaking out about how they haven’t made any real progress this year and they all flail around to resolve to do better next year. But then by February everyone’s forgotten it because nobody ever really changes.

Dr. Champ got on my ass about that last bit. He said I’m right about a lot of people abandoning their resolutions but that doesn’t mean nobody ever really changes. Apparently the reason people don’t follow through is because changing isn’t just something you can do once and you’re done. You’ve gotta commit to it until it becomes habit, and that’s why every time I start freaking out in therapy he makes me practice those bullshit coping methods.

And let me tell you, I freak out in therapy a lot. So does Sarah Lynn. I think we all do. It’s like, you know all that shitty stuff that happened in my childhood that I healed from ages ago? Yeah, apparently I never actually healed from any of it, just covered it up with a bunch of alcohol and shit, which is why I’m so screwed now that I can’t do that. Seriously, it is not easy. The first week they had me actually doing stuff after the withdrawals ended - and by the way, Sarah Lynn was right about the whole Joelle-ing up the place thing, withdrawals were HELL - I had a huge panic attack in the middle of hike therapy and they had to give me an emergency session with Dr. Champ, it was so embarrassing. And the first time they tried to make me talk in group therapy I had to leave the room because I was so freaked out.

It’s like - remember that time in 1994 when you fell off a bookshelf being an idiot? And you had to get surgery otherwise your leg would heal wrong and basically be screwed forever? I think that sort of happened with my brain. Like, my parents broke my brain by being such shitheads to me, and I should have gotten help like you always said I should but instead I just drank a whole bunch and then it healed wrong. And now Dr. Champ’s gotta re-break it a bunch so it can heal properly.

It sucks. It REALLY sucks. It’s honestly the worst thing I’ve ever done. But, I sorta think it’s helping.

Anyway, babe, I love you. Thank you so much for helping me with this. Bye.

This is BoJack, by the way.

Horseman, obviously.

* * *

Hey Herb,

We’ve gotta do writing therapy here, which is totally bullshit. And they want me to write letters even though I have nobody to write to. Bullshit, I know. Anyway, I thought I’d write to you, since I know you and I don’t hate you and idk if I’m ready for you know, the big emotional letters. Like the one where I apologise to stupid-ass Joelle or tell my stepdad how much I hate him. So I thought I’d write to you since you’re my friend and also because I don’t trust BoJack to be honest about how he’s doing here.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I 100% respect BoJack’s privacy. I would never tell you anything he doesn’t want you to know. Like, for example, he asked me not to tell you that he got his toothbrush confiscated in the first week for Joelle-ing and now he’s not allowed to be unsupervised for an hour after mealtimes. So I will not tell you that. I will also not violate BoJack’s privacy by telling you about how he punched a wall in art therapy yesterday because he was so frustrated that he couldn’t make good art. It was kinda funny.

I don’t get what his whole problem is. Art therapy is actually the least shitty part of all this. You get to paint and shit, you know, just like youd expect. Sometimes they give you specific prompts which is all really abstract bullshit but most of the time they just give you some paint and let you go wild. It’s fun. It would be nice if we could use google during art therapy though. I kinda want to look up references for the houses and shit.

BoJack basically just drags his feet about everything honestly. Like I get it “hike therapy” sucks but he still has to do it. I don’t like walking either but at least I suck it up and do it while he’s busy complaining and giving up. He never talks in group therapy either, which i guess makes sense because it’s total bullshit but he should still do it. The only thing he actually does is plant therapy.

Which, by the way, is the most bullshittiest bullshit of all. How is it therapeutic to kill a different plant every week? How was I supposed to know you’re not meant to water plants with chocolate milk? Anyway, he got a bunch of the same flower and now he keeps making jokes about his sister or something idk. It’s super annoying he never shuts up.

You know it’s weird. At first when you dragged me into this I thought I was just coming to shut you up. I’ve tried to quit a whole bunch of times but I never followed through because I don’t know, being sober sucks. And the day before yesterday someone left. Whenever someone leaves they get you to think about your own progress and they’re doing that even more now because it’s nearly the end of the year.

So the annoying therapy dude Dr. Champ keeps asking me when I think I’m gonna be ready to leave, and I always answer that it’s not really about me because I promised BoJack I’d stay as long as he did. And Dr. Champ is all like “so are you genuinely committed to being sober, or are you just doing it to support BoJack?”

Which is honestly super annoying. I’m not doing it to “support” BoJack I’m doing it because you’re annoyingly persuasive. I don’t really care about him that much to be honest. Like don’t get me wrong it’s not like I want him to have a shitty life I just, it’s like who cares if he’s sober or not? I hope he doesn’t end up actually committing to this and then being no fun. Like being sober’s ok I guess but he’d better not start being all boring.

Anyway I’m never really sure what to say when Dr. Champ asks me that. Because sometimes I have to bullshit my way through it because the real answer is that yeah, I’m 100% doing this for BoJack and the second I’m out of this shithole I’m probably gonna be shooting everything under the sun and honestly I can’t wait for BoJack to finish healing so I can get the hell out of here, but obviously if I say that in therapy then he’ll go on a long rant about why I should sober up. It’s annoying.

But other times, I don’t know. I kinda feel like maybe this time it’ll stick. I mean BoJack was always the poster child for alcoholism you know? When I was a kid he kind of accidentally taught me some not great stuff about drugs and alcohol since he was constantly getting drunk on set. And I always thought, why should I have to change when he drinks as much as me and he’s fine? But now I’m kinda you know, seeing him being a total mess after horse therapy and listening to all the stupid bullshit he says in group therapy when he’s not too chicken to talk and I think, you know, he’s not fine, maybe I’m not fine either. Maybe it’s okay to not be fine.

I dunno. I’ve been doing a lot of self reflection lately because that’s basically all you do in therapy and I’ve been thinking a lot about whether I actually wanna follow through with this whole sobriety thing once I’m out of Pastiches. And part of me thinks it’s stupid, because the times I actually tried I ended up relapsing. But I brought that up with Dr Champ once and he said that relapsing is part of recovery and maybe part of the problem is that once I relapse I think that it’s all over now that my streak’s broken so I just go ahead and do more drugs. 

I still think it was dickish of you to make me do this. It’s all total bullshit and I’m probably not gonna follow through. But I mean, I might, I guess. I mean, what have I got to lose from just trying?

-Sarah Lynn

P.S. “ay kabayo” is a Tagalog thing that’s basically just a generic exclamation sorta like “oh crap” or something like that. But for some reason “kabayo” literally means horse. BoJack has no idea, don’t tell him.


	15. Int. Sub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a date with his husband, Doctor Champ recounts the problems that arose when a new girl checked into Pastiches. In order to protect doctor-patient confidentiality laws, he changes some of the names.

He sips anxiously at a coffee, making periodic glances toward the door. For a moment, he worries that he’ll just be left to wait in this cafe for eternity; he breathes a loud sigh of relief when his husband, a large pinto black stallion with long black hair, finally takes a seat next to him. “Good to see you, Reigning.”

“Good to see you too, Doctor.”

“It’s been a long week.”

“Ugh, tell me about it.” He rests his arms on the table, already exhausted. “You know the homophobic brumby from my church group?”

“The one that _still_ has the Australian accent even though he’s been in America for sixty years?”

“Yeah, him. Apparently his wife’s dying, and he wants us all to feel sorry for him.”

Doctor Champ tilts his head. “Isn’t he the one that brags about how he disowned his son?”

“No, it’s the wife that brags about it. He just doesn’t care.”

He shakes his head. “God, and we’re meant to feel sorry for them? I hope the wife dies and the son sets all her stuff on fire.” He sighs. “Pastiches has been a _nightmare.”_

“How so?”

He waves a hand dismissively. “I’m not allowed to tell you anything, since I’m an actual therapist in this universe.”

Reigning’s eyes light up. “Maybe you could tell me about what’s been going on, but change all of the names and identifying features of the patients! That way you’re not breaking confidentiality.”

“...That could work.” He clears his throat. “So, it all started last Friends and Family Day. There’s this one guy who came in a while back with a friend of his, and he always has loads of visitors. His name is … BoBo the Angsty Zebra.”

* * *

BoBo the Angsty Zebra stared at the crumpled paper in his hands. In large, irritating letters at the top of the page were the words _INT. SUB._ He gave her an expectant look. “Uh, I’m not sure if you got the message, but I’m kind of, you know, _in rehab.”_

His agent, who was named Tangled Fog of Pulsating Yearning in the Shape of a Woman, waved a hand dismissively. “We can change the shooting schedule. It’s all flexible! I just need you to have these scripts memorised by, err…” She thought for a moment. “Tomorrow, is that cool?”

“No!” he protested. “Do you have any _idea_ how much shit they make me do here?! Tomorrow I’ve got hike therapy. If I’m busy reading this the whole time everyone’s hiking, Doctor Champ’s gonna be on my ass about it in horse therapy!”

BoBo’s husband, Jerb Pizzaz, grimaced. “This _might_ not be the best time for him to start a new show. I mean, can’t this show wait until he’s finished with rehab to start filming? Do we really _need_ to make, uh…”

_“Philbert.”_

“Yeah, do we really need to make _Philbert_ right now?” He frowned. “Why is it called _Philbert?”_

“You _really_ think BoBo’s gonna be able to do your stupid-ass show?” asked BoBo’s friend, Sky Helmulfarb. “I mean, he hasn’t even _done_ a show that isn’t a piece of shit since _Stripin’ Around,_ which was the show he and I starred in in the 90s. You want him to start leaving rehab for what, eight hours a day, five days a week? He’s not even allowed to brush his teeth unsupervised yet.”

“Yeah,” agreed BoBo. “And I mean, have you _seen_ me? I haven’t gotten a haircut in like, _forever.”_

“The hair and makeup department can deal with that on-set,” Tangled Fog of Pulsating Yearning insisted. “And as I explained, I already forged your signature to sign the contract, so you _have_ to do it!”

“I feel like that should qualify as some sort of fraud,” said Jerb.

“It’s not fraud until the authorities find out!” She gave BoBo her best puppy-dog eyes. “Please?”

He sighed. “Fine.”

* * *

“So BoBo’s been taking some time off to film that show,” explains Doctor Champ. “Six hours a day, three days a week. And honestly, I don’t know if it’s good for him.”

* * *

He mindlessly splattered paint onto the easel, groaning in frustration every time it predictably splashed onto his own fur. “Ugh! Why is this paint so splashy?”

Sky Helmulfarb raised a quizzical eyebrow at him. “You okay, BoBo?”

“No.” He groaned and slammed his head against the easel. “I am _so_ stressed right now. Every time I go out for _Philbert,_ I just _barely_ manage to make it home sober. Why is there _always_ alcohol on set?! I swear to God, one of these days I’m gonna relapse.”

“Oof.”

BoBo removed his head from the easel and wiped a large blue spot from his forehead. “And my roommate Emperor Finger-Face is always in the studio audience. And he’s always just giving me this _look,_ you know? Makes me feel guilty.”

She tilted her head, frowning. “Why do you feel guilty?”

“...No reason.”

“Well, lighten up! Like -- I heard there’s a new chick coming in tomorrow. Apparently she called ahead, ugh. Who _does_ that? It’s better if it’s a surprise.”

* * *

Reigning tilts his head. “There was a new girl coming?”

“Mm-hmm,” answers Doctor. “She’s been here once or twice before, you see, but she just relapsed. Her name was … Sharon.”

* * *

For the first week, she was in her room detoxing the entire time, and it was rare for anyone to catch a glimpse of her. Yet still Sky Helmulfarb managed. She pressed an ear against the door to listen for recognizable walking patterns, she asked around for any scrap of useful information, and when that failed, she just walked into the new girl’s room and asked.

The thing is, Sky Helmulfarb was a _hell_ of a repeat customer. She was probably developing drug addictions before other kids her age were considering their first cautious, inquisitive uses of alcohol. She knew the ins and outs of every rehabilitation centre, every 12-step, every AA group in LA, and she could probably list off the names of every addict in California.

Also, she happened to know Sharon.

“Psst, you know the new girl?” she whispered to BoBo one day in hike therapy, tone low and conspiratorial. “She’s _Sharon.”_

BoBo froze. “Sharon?!”

“Yeah, _Sharon.”_

“Sharon?” he continued to ask. “As in, the hair and makeup lady from _Stripin’ Around?”  
_ _  
_ “Yeah, the one that was there until 1994. Ugh, she was _so_ good! What _happened_ to her?”

“Uh, you got into her vodka?” he explained, raising an eyebrow. “Which was actually _my_ vodka? Your mom threatened to sue so I threw her under the bus? Don’t you remember _any_ of that?”

“Uh, nope. Wait, you got Sharon fired?” She pouted. “Why’d you do that? She was cool.”

“I know, that’s why I haven’t spoken to her in twenty-three years.” He groaned. “Herb made me call her right after it happened but she didn’t pick up, and I just told myself she probably didn’t want to talk to me. She _can’t_ be here.”

“Oof.” She started walking again. “Well, I mean, it’s not like it matters that much. You’re only here four days a week, it shouldn’t be _that_ hard to avoid her.”

* * *

“Except it _was_ that hard to avoid her,” Doctor Champ explains. “Because Sharon and Sky Helmulfarb were friends, and BoBo didn’t have any other friends in Pastiches apart from Sky.”

Reigning leans forward, now fully engaged in the story. “So what was it like?”

“For a while, it was just really _awkward._ They’d be part of the same conversation, with Sky Helmulfarb, but they’d never speak directly to each other. One day in plant therapy BoBo finally talked directly to Sharon, and she didn’t take it well.”

* * *

She quickly withdrew her hand from the plant. “Ugh, roses are the _worst.”_

“I know, right?” agreed Sharon. “Why are they so _sharp?”_

“I _hate_ them. I swear to God, if these asswipes give me one more sharp plant I’m stealing their kidneys.”

Sharon’s eyes widened and she took a step backward. “Uh, what?”

“You heard me.”

“... _Both_ kidneys?”

Sky Helmulfarb thought for a moment. “No, only the left one.”

Sharon chuckled. “I’m just imagining you walking around with someone’s left kidney in your arm explaining that _actually_ it’s okay because you accidentally stabbed yourself with their plant.”

BoBo took a deep breath. “Well, actually, it’s the right kidney that’s more likely to be stolen.”

There was a long, painful silence.

Sharon glared. _“Don’t.”_ She took a step toward him. _“Don’t_ try and act like everything’s _fine_ after the shit you pulled.” She grabbed her potted plant and hurriedly moved it to another section of the room.

Sky Helmulfarb stared at BoBo the Angsty Zebra. “Why do you even _know_ that?”

* * *

Reigning winces sympathetically. “Did you manage to sort it out in group therapy?”

“I was going to,” explains Doctor Champ. “But the next day, BoBo couldn’t attend group because he was filming. His husband brought him back early.”

* * *

He buried his face in his hands as they pulled into the carpark. “God.” 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Jerb leaned over to place a hand on his shoulder. “This is just part of recovery.”

“It’s gonna be so embarassing going back in,” BoBo slurred.

“It’s okay. It’s not the end of the world.”

“They’re gonna take away my one-month chip.”

“Well, that’s _stupid.”_ BoBo looked up at him and he elaborated. “You have made _so much_ progress, and they think that’s all gone because you drank _once?_ Relapses happen, babe.”

“Ugh.” He fumbled with the seat belt button until Jerb took pity on him and did it himself. “Doctor Champ’s gonna have my ass for this.”

Jerb raised an eyebrow. “Your _therapist_ is gonna have your ass?”

“Yeah. Trust me, I am _never_ gonna hear the end of this.”

* * *

“And I’m guessing he never did hear the end of it?” asks Reigning.

“Mm-hmm. I brought it up the next time we had horse therapy and asked him if he knew _why_ he relapsed.”

* * *

“I … felt guilty.”

Doctor Champ gave him an expectant look and he elaborated. “Sharon and I don’t exactly have the best history. We used to be coworkers, but I got her fired to save my own ass because I’m a stupid piece of shit.”

Doctor Champ noted something down on his clipboard. “Is there anything else that’s making you feel guilty?”

BoBo rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Well, I mean, my roommate, Emperor Finger-Face, he had this girlfriend, and -- you know what? It’s not that big a deal. Can we get back onto Sharon? I think that’s the _real_ stressor here. I don’t know how to apologise to her.”

“I could mediate a two-person group therapy session, if you like.”

“No, that’s -- that’s not it.” He shook his head. “I talked to Jerb about it while I was drunk, and he said it might be best to approach her while we’re doing something else. Like, during art therapy.”

“Jerb’s not a professional therapist, though. And --”

“Nope, I’m talking to her in art therapy. Not debatable.”

* * *

“Seems like he was really sure about that.”

“Yeah. So, the next day in art therapy, he finally talked to her about it.”

* * *

He leaned over to look at the splatters of paint. “Woah, that’s a weird-looking house.”

“Eh, I’m going for something more … _abstract,”_ explained Sky Helmulfarb. “Like, this is based on a drawing I did when I was ten. I was drunk at the time.”

There was a long, painful silence.

“Actually, that reminds me,” said BoBo, grimacing. He cleared his throat, then turned to Sharon. “I wanted to talk to you. I felt bad about … what happened.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So, you’re apologising.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” she said nonchalantly. “I do not forgive you.”

For a second, BoBo seemed genuinely upset, and he smeared someone’s painting with his elbow as he stepped back in shock. But then he sighed and hung his head. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

* * *

“Oh,” says Reigning. “So was that it?”

Doctor Champ stares at him. “Don’t you think that moment really highlighted BoBo’s growth?”

“Uh, I dunno. Was it meant to be juxtaposed against an earlier moment from his life in which he reacted poorly to someone rejecting his apology?”

“...It doesn’t matter.” He sighs. “So, I maybe could have left it there. But, I _really_ don’t like when the patients don’t get along, you know? So I brought it up during group therapy.”

* * *

BoBo the Angsty Zebra rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “And I didn’t really have too many friends at the time. I mean, there was Jerb and Charlotte, but I didn’t feel like I could talk to them about it at the time, so I just _didn’t.”_

The room was silent. One person raised their hand. “What did you do next?”

“Finished the visit,” he explained numbly. “Stayed for the rest of the day, then drove back to L.A. _Stripin’ Around_ was in pre-production at the time, you see, and Jerb was working his ass off, so I had to help. I mean, I didn’t _have_ to, but … the guy was giving me a sitcom, it was the least I could do, you know? And I must have been acting kinda on-edge or something, I dunno, because he kept asking me if I was okay, and I kept saying I was, because, I mean, what was I meant to say? I was twenty-two. I couldn’t just _say_ that my mom tried to drown me.”

The rest of the room murmured their assurances. Doctor Champ’s eyes lingered on the tattooed woman who remained silent, arms crossed. “Sharon, I’ve noticed you often seem unresponsive while BoBo the Angsty Zebra is talking during group therapy. Why do you think that is?”

Sharon remained silent.

“They kinda hate each other,” explained Sky Helmulfarb. 

Doctor Champ frowned. “We’re all in the same boat here, and hating each other doesn’t help _anybody._ So, BoBo, I want you to try to say something nice about Sharon.”

BoBo looked down at his feet. “She’s a _great_ hairdresser,” he begins. “And she’s really committed to sobriety, even when things don’t go so well. And, and a lot of people here had to basically get dragged into rehab, myself included, but Sharon, she’s brave enough to seek help, which is something I really admire about her. Oh, and, there was this one time in 1994 when my husband fell off a bookshelf -- long story -- and everyone was just sort of generally freaking out and not knowing what to do, and Sharon was the only one who had the sense to get the guy a goddamned panadol. Because, uh, she’s really clear-headed. Other people just freak out and don’t know what to do, but Sharon can think past all of the chaos and find a solution. I really respect her for that.”

Doctor Champ turned to Sharon. “Sharon, why don’t you say something nice about BoBo?”

Sharon rolled her eyes. “He’s tall.”

* * *

Reigning’s eyes widen. “Seems like the problem was less that they hated each other and more that Sharon just hated BoBo.”

“That’s right,” says Doctor Champ. “But the next day in hike therapy, they actually _talked_ to each other.”

* * *

He caught her, leaning against a rock and sipping from her water bottle as she tried to catch her breath. “Hey.”

She didn’t look up. “Hey.”

“I, uh -- I just wanted to say, you did really well in group today.” She raised an eyebrow and he elaborated. “I mean, talking about how you cheated on your partner and all, that was really brave. It’s not easy to talk about.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I can’t tell whether you’re being passive-aggressive or not.”

 _“I’m_ being passive-aggressive?” he choked. “Yesterday Doctor Champ asked you to compliment me and you just said I was tall!” He forced a chuckle, and she laughed along. “Seriously, though. I mean, I’m impressed. I could never admit something like that to a group of near-strangers.”

“Yeah, well, if you’re not as much of a screw-up as me then you don’t _have_ to admit something like that to a group of near-strangers.” 

He remained silent, and the look on his face told her everything she needed to know. 

Her jaw dropped. “You’re _kidding.”_

He grimaced. “Well, we were in a fight at the time, and -- yeah. And, and I don’t know how to tell him.”

“You know, it’ll be worse the longer you leave it.” She sighed. “Wow, you’re a dick.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Pfft, if anyone’s Sherlock, it’s Sky Helmulfarb. Have you _seen_ her when someone mentions another alcoholic in group and she tries to ‘deduce’ who it is? She _always_ gets it right, it’s like she knows _every_ addict in California.” She chuckled. “Besides, I bet it’s gonna be here that gets Silver Blaze home, not me.”

His eyes widened. “You’ve read that story?” He frowned. “Wait, _silver_ blaze?”

“Well, yeah. Underneath all that shitty dye.”

He ran a hand self-consciously through his mane. “Is it that obvious?”

“Of _course_ it’s that obvious. What are you dyeing it with, sharpie? Also, your roots are showing.”

He chuckled nervously. “Yeah, I _really_ need a haircut.”

They made a brief, fleeting eye contact.

* * *

Reigning grins. “Tell me they didn’t.”

“Oh, they did.”

* * *

Jerb scanned the room, starting to frown as he failed to see the familiar black mane. Emperor Finger-Face tugged on his sleeve and he turned to see him. BoBo the Angsty Zebra, now with short hair in its natural grey colour, smiled nervously at him.

“Woah.” He feigned obliviousness, grinning. “You look different somehow. Did you do something different with your hair?”

“...Maybe a little,” he joked back.

“How’d you get that done? I thought you were only allowed out for _Philbert.”_

BoBo, as answer, nodded in Sharon’s general direction.

“You’re _kidding.”_ His eyes widened. “So you two are cool now?”

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Well, I wouldn’t say _cool._ I mean, she still hasn’t totally forgiven me.” He glances in her direction nervously. “But, yesterday in group therapy Doctor Champ asked her to try and say something nice about me, and she said I was a good actor.” At his raised eyebrow, he added, “That was a nice moment that really highlights our own growth, but it only makes sense when juxtaposed with another previous moment that contrasts it.”

* * *

“Hang on,” says Reigning, frowning. “You started this story by saying you’ve had a long week and Pastiches has been a _nightmare._ But that story actually had a happy ending.”

“Are you kidding?” protests Doctor Champ. “BoBo cheated on his husband and won’t admit it, _and_ Sharon still doesn’t really like him. _How_ is that a happy ending?”

“Well, I dunno. The way you _told_ the story in a way that specifically highlight’s everyone’s positive growth sort of made it sound good. And wait, what was up with the scene in the car from BoBo and Jerb’s point of view? How did you know what was happening there? And --” He’s interrupted by the buzzing of his phone. He checks it and groans. “Oh, for God’s sake.”

“What?” asks Doctor Champ. 

“It’s the homophobic brumby from my church group. He wants advice on how to tell his son, _who he disowned,_ that his mom is dying.”

 _“Why_ would that be your problem?!”

“Ugh, he only respects gay people when it’s convenient for him.” He sighs. “I hope that the son just goes to his house and sets his goddamn ottoman on fire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sarah lynn's first name is changed to sky in this because her last name + the whole planetarium thing kinda relates to the sky and I was like, eh whatever throw it in. (also for those who don't get the joke: doctor champ's husband is named reigning. reigning champ. i'll see myself out)


	16. A Quick One, While He's Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herb receives an ominous call from someone from his past. BoJack gets out of rehab.

He proudly glances over Todd’s shoulder at his work. “I can’t  _ believe  _ I never got that thing published.”

Todd grimaces. “This is the one you wrote when you had cancer, isn’t it?”  
  
“Mm-hmm.” 

“...Do you take constructive criticism?”

Herb’s face falls. “You don’t like it, do you?”

“No, no, I do, it’s just --  _ why  _ does the main character always feel the need to remark on the ‘sexy outline’ of the murder victim on the floor?” While Herb mutters something about homophobia under his breath, Todd continues. “And what was up with the time period? The first scene is of the character getting a call on his landline about it being September, so he freaks out and checks the date on his cell phone and it’s somehow 1961. Also, your main character can either be a detective, a writer, an actor, or the ‘world’s strongest president’, but he  _ cannot  _ be all four.”

“Why not?” asks Herb, tilting his head. “You were all four of those things once.”

“For  _ one  _ weekend! Not my whole life.”

“Well, I mean, if you  _ think  _ about it, then -- huh.” He notices his phone vibrating on the counter, and picks it up to answer the call. “Unknown number. Weird.” He holds the device to his ear. “Hi, who is this?”

Todd watches as whoever it is starts talking, but their speech is quiet enough and distorted enough that he can’t make out a word. What he  _ can  _ make out, though, is the way his expression quickly hardens as they begin talking.

“Oh,  _ hey,”  _ he says viciously.  _ “Great  _ to hear from you. Ruined any more  _ lives  _ lately?” There’s a short pause; they seem to start talking but Herb cuts them off. “If you’ve got anything to say to me, you can come down to Ollywoo and say it to my face.”

He hangs up.

Todd stares at him. “Who was that?”

“Nobody important.”

* * *

One bizarre scheme later, Todd wipes the remaining egg yolk onto his pants, having discovered that while you  _ can’t  _ sharpen an omelette without breaking a few eggs, you can break an awful lot of eggs while still not having a clue how one would go about stabbing someone with an omelette.

When he comes home, Herb seems to be halfway through a rant.

“It’s like,” he continues, his words a little slurred. “It’s bad enough that boots include your ankles. But  _ sneakers?”  _ He shakes his head. “What were they  _ thinking?” _

Todd’s eyes widen. “Are you drunk?”

“A little,” he admits. He gestures toward a bottle on the counter, which is still mostly full. “Do you want some?”

He takes a step back. “Uh, one of my first experiences with alcohol was when BoJack got wasted and started screaming about his dead dad, so … no thanks.” He frowns. “Are you  _ sure  _ that’s a good idea?”

“Just a quick one,” Herb insists, waving a hand dismissively. “Y’know, while he’s away.”

Todd’s frown deepens. “Who was that person that called earlier?”

“Nobody important,” says Herb stiffly.

“You sure?” asks Todd skeptically. “I mean, you kinda acted like it was a big thing.”

“No big deal.” He pours some alcohol into a glass, then fills the rest with water. “She’s not gonna be calling again.”

“Well, I mean, you told her to come to Ollywoo, didn’t you?” Todd continues. “I mean, do you know what you’ll do if she does, or is that just a ‘burn that bridge when we get to it’ thing?”

Herb takes a sip from his glass. “I think the bridge is already pretty thoroughly burnt.”

* * *

It’s a pleasant Saturday morning in summer when the yellow Tesla pulls up in the parking lot for the last time.

He reaches over to open the passenger seat door and takes his phone out for the “I’m outside” text. Before he can send it, however, he hears the footsteps that make him look up, and BoJack Horseman climbs into the car.

“Long time no see,” he says, grinning.

Herb raises an eyebrow. “I saw you on Tuesday to give you a lift to the set for  _ Philbert.” _

“Didn’t count if I was still in rehab.”

“Why wouldn’t that count?”

“I dunno, I just wanted to say ‘Long time no see’.” He closes the door. “Do you know anywhere good to eat in Malibu?”

“Hey, I’m not the one who’s been here for the last six months.”

“Rehab doesn’t count, like I said. It’s hardly like I’ve been running around checking out the different restaurants.”

“Maybe we should just eat at home. I bet you’re  _ aching  _ to be back in Ollywoo.”

BoJack grins despite himself. “I  _ do  _ have some people I need to catch up with.”

* * *

The first thing Todd says to him when he comes home is, “Hi.” It’s stiff and a little intimidating, but not so much so that Herb will immediately be suspicious. He takes a sip from his bottle of water and gulps it down. BoJack also gulps.

The second thing Todd says to him when he comes home is, “So how was rehab?” And BoJack launches into a long rant about how it absolutely  _ sucked,  _ about how he had to do all this stupid bullshit like  _ painting  _ and looking after  _ plants  _ and goddamned  _ hike therapy,  _ and then Herb leaves the room to go make lunch.

The third thing Todd says to him when he comes home is more of a hiss than a sentence. “You haven’t told him, have you?”

“...Told him what?” says BoJack unconvincingly.

“About Emily.” BoJack gulps. “It’s been  _ months  _ and you  _ still  _ haven’t told him.”

“I -- I can’t tell him  _ now,”  _ he insists. “I mean, I  _ just  _ got home! And -- and he’s so happy, now that I’m back. Do you really want me to ruin that?”

“I mean, I don’t  _ want  _ you to ruin that, but the longer you wait, the worse it’s gonna be.” He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Also, I don’t want to seem like I’m slut-shaming Emily, but she kinda …”

“Is like how I was in the 80s and early 90s?”

“Yeah, sure. And, I mean, you should  _ probably  _ tell him before you, you know,  _ do  _ anything. Since, you know… STDs?”

BoJack’s eyes widen, just for a moment, but he waves a hand dismissively. “It’s been way more than six months, so I’m probably good.”

“Okay, but that’s worse. You do get how that’s worse, right?” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I mean, I  _ just  _ said how it’ll be harder to tell him the longer you wait. And he’ll be more upset if he knows you’ve been lying all this time!” He cautiously places a hand on BoJack’s shoulder. “Maybe it’s best to just, you know… bite the bullet.”

BoJack hesitates. “Or  _ maybe  _ he just … doesn’t have to know about it?” As Todd gapes at him in disgust, he rushes to defend himself. “Just, Emily’s not really talking to you anymore, there’s no reason I have to tell him. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”

Todd narrows his eyes. “What he doesn’t know can  _ totally  _ hurt him! Remember that time he nearly died because he didn’t know the food he ordered had peanuts?”

“That’s totally different.” He takes a step back, defensive and cautious. “Look, Todd, you’ve never gotten drunk in your life, you don’t know what it’s like! Being an alcoholic, I mean. All that shitty stuff I did when I was drunk all the time, that wasn’t  _ me!”  _ He stares down at his shoes. “Now that I’m sobered up, I can’t even  _ recognize  _ the person I used to be. The person who cheated on Herb, that -- that isn’t  _ me.  _ Why should I have to be accountable for the actions of a man I can’t even recognize?”

Todd stares at him. “Because it’s  _ you.” _

“It’s not the  _ same  _ me.”

“It’s still  _ a  _ you, though. It wasn’t the alcoholism that made you cheat on Herb, BoJack. That was  _ you.” _

BoJack gulps. Herb sticks his head into the room. “Lunch is almost ready.”

“...Cool,” says BoJack tensely.

Herb frowns. “Hey, you two okay? You look like you were just having a fight.”

There’s a long, painful silence.

“We  _ were  _ having a fight,” Todd admits. “We were fighting over…”

“...Ace discourse!” finishes BoJack.

“...What?” chokes Herb.

BoJack turns to Todd, pointing a finger accusingly. “Purple was on the bisexual pride flag first, asshole!”

“...What does that have to do with whether I’m LGBT or not?”

* * *

He walks into the room with the air of a man with a purpose, but all it takes is Herb’s quick, “Hey, BJ,” to deflate him. He first looks around the room with exaggerated confusion, like he’s just forgotten why he came in in the first place, but then he realises he’s been in here too long to just leave without explanation, so he takes a seat on the couch.

“...Hey.”

Herb frowns. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no, nothing’s _ wrong,  _ it’s just…” He sighs. “Rehab was really  _ stupid.” _

“I know, BJ,” says Herb. “You’ve basically been saying that non-stop since the first letter.”

“That’s because it’s true. We had to do all of this stupid bullshit that was meant to make us feel better and they just slapped the word ‘therapy’ after everything. How is it  _ therapeutic  _ to paint something so shitty it makes me wish I didn’t have hands?” He clears his throat nervously. “And you know what the stupidest bullshit of all was?”

“I’m guessing hike therapy?”

“No.” He shakes his head.  _ “Horse  _ therapy. Which, by the way, is racist. Why does the fact that the therapist is a horse matter? Diane never tries to help me by talking about the shit she learned in  _ human  _ therapy.”

“Mm-hmm?” says Herb, giving him a curious look.

“And the whole thing was just so  _ stupid,”  _ he continues.  _ “Total  _ bullshit. It’s like, how is talking about all the shitty things that happened to you meant to  _ help?  _ I had some sort of freak-out in every other goddamn session. You know, making me relive all my traumatic memories,  _ real  _ helpful.”

Herb doesn’t  _ say  _ that BoJack is clearly missing the point if this is what he thinks of therapy, but he certainly thinks it very loudly. “Well, you’re sober now, so it must have helped somehow.”

“...That’s the problem.” He avoids eye contact. “I mean, therapy was the worst part. It was total bullshit. I  _ hated  _ it. ...But, it  _ helped.  _ And, I mean, I don’t know, I’ve been thinking, and …” 

He trails off uncertainly, but Herb finishes the sentence for him. “And you’ve been thinking of trying it outside of rehab?”

BoJack nods meekly. Herb stares at him.

“So, uh, are you asking my  _ permission,  _ or … ? Because I’ve  _ literally  _ been telling you to go to therapy for, like, twenty years.”

“I don’t know,” says BoJack defensively. “I just, I don’t know, I felt like I needed someone to tell me it wasn’t stupid.”

“The  _ only  _ person who thinks it’s stupid is  _ you,  _ you  _ dingus.”  _ He slings an arm around BoJack’s shoulders, grinning widely. “And I’m always gonna support you, no matter what. I’ll even help you book an appointment if you want.”

“No, no, you don’t have to -- I mean, I guess you  _ could  _ if you really wanted to -- yeah, actually, that’d be nice.”

Herb chuckles. “Same old BJ.”

BoJack playfully punches him in the shoulder. “Hey, I’ve changed a little!”

“New and improved BJ, then.”

An annoying cover of the  _ Horsin’ Around  _ theme begins to play from BoJack’s phone and he quickly stares at the lock screen. “Huh. Unknown number.”

“Don’t answer it,” says Herb hurriedly.

BoJack frowns. “Why not?”

“Just -- don’t. I mean, who  _ knows  _ who it is? It might be best to just  _ ignore  _ it and if it’s important they can come see you in  _ person  _ and  _ BoJack please just decline the call--” _

“Woah.” He declines the call and stares at Herb with wide eyes. “Uh, is something going on, or … ?”

“It’s -- It’s nothing. Really. I just -- some people don’t  _ deserve  _ the phone, you know?” He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Phones are so convenient. You can just talk to someone with no warning, you don’t have to drive all the way to Ollywoo, and they just have to drop everything and listen to whatever  _ bullshit  _ you have to say. Some people don’t  _ deserve  _ that.”

“...Uh, what?”

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“It sure  _ sounds  _ like it matters.” Frowning, he places a hand on Herb’s shoulder. “Baby, you know you can tell me anything… ?”

Herb hesitates, then sighs. “Like I said, it’s nothing. Just -- My sister called last week, and I’ve been kind of on edge since.”

“Your -- Your  _ sister?”  _ He frowns. “Wait, which one?”

“The younger one.”

“Oh shit, that’s the one I had sex with in 1987!” Herb stares at him and he rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Yeah, I see now how saying that probably just made things more awkward. Why’d she call?”

“I dunno.” He stiffens. “I hung up. I mean, if it’s important she’ll drive her stupid ass out here to say it to my face, right?” 

BoJack’s frown deepens. “It’s probably nothing,” he insists, not that he believes it himself.

* * *

He forgets to put his phone on silent  _ again. _

He mutters his vague apologies to the annoyed staff of  _ Philbert,  _ and takes out his phone, ready to decline another anonymous call. Surprisingly, the caller is someone in his contacts this time -- specifically the famous Sarah Lynn. He holds it to his ear. “Hey?”

“Dude, Bradley is  _ so  _ pissed right now,” she explains. “He’s been trying to call you for, like,  _ ever.” _

“Oh shit, I forgot to save him in my contacts.” He groans. “What does he want?”

“Another  _ Ethan Around  _ reunion episode. Can you make it?”

He grimaces. “Uh, maybe?” He glances around the room hesitantly. “I’m  _ really  _ busy lately. So tell Bradley, uh, I guess -- tell him that he can write me into the script, but I might have to cancel last-minute so don’t do anything that you can’t cut easily.”

“Aww!” she protests. “Guess it’s gonna be less of a reunion episode and more of an uncool aunts episode. Which  _ sucks,  _ because yesterday, I realised something about my relationship with Joelle! I had an  _ epiphany!” _

“Is this another one of your bullshit ‘whatever tips your ship’ or ‘reverse onion’ epiphanies?”

“No, this one makes  _ sense.”  _ She pauses for an annoyingly long time in an attempt to create suspense. “Joelle’s bitchy to me, yeah, but I’m  _ also  _ an ass to her! And if we wanna be all friends and buddy-buddy and shit, I can't just wait around for her to apologise for me. _I_ have to take the first step.”

“...Yeah, that wasn’t a revelation or anything. That was blatantly obvious to anybody who was in a room with you two for more than two minutes.” He sighs. “I gotta go, okay?”

* * *

“I just,” he says, as gently as he can, taking a deep breath. “I just, I have to ask -- how can he be an actor, writer, detective,  _ and  _ the world’s strongest president?”

“Well, he’s had a lot of time to work stuff out,” explains Herb. “Since he graduated high school when he was four.”

“...Yeah, uh, I think that might be part of the --”

He’s interrupted by a knocking at the door. 

Herb stiffens. “Ah, shit. Hey, Todd, can you do me a favour and sort of weirdly look out the window to see who the hell that is?”

Todd raises an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah, sure.” He cautiously glances out the window. “Uh, it’s some porcupine --”

“Oh,  _ shit.”  _ He leans against the doorframe and takes a deep breath. Then, he opens the door to reveal a porcupine woman that BoJack can just  _ barely  _ recognize from their sole encounter, thirty-one years ago. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she says flatly. She begins to take a step forward but he steps into the doorway, blocking her path.

“You do  _ not  _ get to just  _ waltz  _ into my house after ignoring me for  _ decades.”  _ He clears his throat. “We’ll talk outside.” Not waiting for her to approve of this, he very  _ deliberately  _ pulls BoJack’s face down for a quick kiss on the cheek, and then shuts the door behind him following a swift exit.

There’s a long, painful silence.

“Uh, what just happened?”

“I think it’s his sister,” says BoJack, more for his own sake than Todd’s. This just feels  _ too  _ much like when he was a little kid and the school would call his parents in for a meeting about the latest idiotic fight he’d gotten into, or when he’d be told to stay in his room while his parents discussed how he should be appropriately punished for his latest childish mistake. He can almost  _ smell  _ the smoke that followed his mother through every room. It’s impossible for him to not feel like he’s been  _ caught,  _ that Herb is going to  _ find out,  _ that it’s only a matter of time before Herb storms back in and shoves him against the nearest wall and starts yelling at him for a toy that he left in the hallway because  _ he’s a kid and he doesn’t know any better. _

And, it  _ really  _ doesn’t help that Todd is giving him  _ that look. _

They talk for a  _ long  _ time. BoJack alternates between pacing in the doorway, hiding from their view, and peeking out the window, because he knows he can’t hear them but he needs to know that they’re not  _ laughing and grinning because the only time they’re happy together is when they’re relating to each other in their anger at him _ **_._ **

“So, uh,” mutters Todd. “About --”

“Don’t,” he hisses. “Not right now. I’m freaking out.”

“Why?”

“I feel like they’re talking about me.”

“... _ Why  _ would they be talking about you?” asks Todd. “You seriously think she would drive all the way out here just to bitch about you?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t tell if you’re narcissistic or just anxious.”

“I’m never sure.” 

When the door finally starts to creak open, BoJack’s halfway through nervously pacing in front of it and he has to rush to get out of the way. He catches a glimpse of an unfamiliar car exiting their driveway before Herb comes inside. He shuts the door behind him and then leans against it, eyes closed, letting his head swing back against it.

BoJack stares at him. “Uh…”

In an instant he seems to straighten up. “Sorry. Just needed a second.” He clears his throat. “So, my mom just died.”

Todd moves a hand to his mouth in shock. “Oh my God, I’m sorry.”

“Eh, it’s cool. She was old, and also the worst.” He leans back against the door, turning to boJack. “Funeral’s gonna be a nightmare, though.”

BoJack rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Yeah,  _ that  _ seems like a whole thing.”


	17. Bear Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah Lynn attempts to mend her relationship with Joelle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as an Australian, I can 100% confirm that we are the earth equivalent to florida.

Another sharp turn causes her to accidentally paint half of her middle finger a purple hue. “God  _ damn  _ it.”  _ Whose  _ idea was it again to do her nails on the way to work? Oh, right, it was hers. It was a good idea, too. Her phone continues to ring on the dashboard, letting her know that the call she’s making is reaching its recipient. Finally, BoJack groans into the phone. “Hey, Sarah Lynn.”

“BoJack!” she yells. “Ugh, I  _ wish  _ you could be in the episode today.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says, somewhat irritably. “But I had to cancel last-minute because I’m going to Malibu for my mother-in-law’s funeral.” 

“That sounds like a whole thing.” 

“It is,” he explains. “I didn’t even know her, I’m just going for moral support.” There’s a noise in the background that sounds like Herb’s voice, and then he corrects himself. “Sorry, I’m going for  _ emotional  _ support. There’s no morality in any of this.”

“Oof.” She accidentally covers another finger in nail polish. “Well, make sure to have a good time and put the ‘fun’ in funeral.”

“...Yeah, that feels like it would be insensitive. We’re just going so Herb can get closure with his mom.”

“Closure, huh? When I want to get closure with someone, I generally just set their ottoman on fire.”

“What?”

“I’m serious,” she explains. “Like, when I was younger I used to  _ totally  _ resent you guys for failing to protect me when I was a kid and letting me stay in a bad situation. But then, remember that time I stabbed myself with a rusty bayonet and then visited? I set your ottoman on fire, and then I felt  _ so  _ much better.”

“...I am genuinely sorry.” There’s a short pause. “Wait,  _ please  _ tell me that’s now how you’re planning to get closure with Joelle? Because that would  _ definitely  _ just make her angrier.”

She laughs. “No, don’t worry.” When she frowns, it’s not because of the nail polish that she just smeared onto her steering wheel. “I wish you were gonna be filming with us, though. I have  _ no  _ idea how I’m gonna apologise to stupid-ass Joelle.”

“Maybe you could start by not calling her stupid-ass Joelle?” He sighs. “Look, do me a favour, and, uh -- just  _ try  _ to fix things with her, okay? Just try your best.” He sounds downright anxious by this point. “Herb really cares about you two being friends. His mom died, which, as you know, is a whole thing. He could  _ really  _ use some good news at the end of the day.”

She bites her lip anxiously for a moment, then grins. “You  _ got  _ it!” She narrowly avoids crashing into a tree as she puts her nail polish back in the bottle and leaves it to rest on the dashboard. “I mean, how hard can it be to make Joelle stop hating me?”

* * *

Very hard, apparently.

Her attempt at a “Hi, Joelle,” as she walks onto the set is met with a glare and a flash of her middle finger; when she tries to start up a friendly conversation about how  _ shitty Ethan Around  _ is, she’s told in no uncertain terms exactly where she can shove it. When a convenient lighting issue calls for a five-minute break and Joelle rebuffs her attempts at interaction, she can’t help the way she stamps her foot and rolls her eyes. “Why are you being so  _ bitchy  _ to me?”

Joelle gives her an incredulous look. “Uh, because you’re  _ always  _ bitchy to me?”

“You’re not exactly the best of friends,” snarks Bradley. “It’s kind of your whole thing.”

“But I’m  _ different  _ now,” she protests. “I’m clean and sober!”

“Wonder how long  _ that’ll  _ last,” snarks Joelle. “Why are you trying to act like you’re not bitchy anymore?”

“Because I’ve  _ changed!”  _ she yells, frustration peaking.

Joelle raises an eyebrow. “Wow, who lit your tampon string on fire?”

“What’s a tampon?” asks Chloe.

Sarah Lynn glares. “Hey, that happened  _ one  _ time, and only because someone dared me to.”

Bradley takes a step back, staring at her warily. “Wait, what?”

“I set my tampon string on fire,” she explains nonchalantly. “One of my friends said she’s give me eighty bucks if I did. And I mean, I didn’t need the money, but if I said no I would have been  _ chicken,  _ so…”

A young chicken boy, playing the role of Julia’s new unnecessary love interest, runs from the room with his head in his hands. Joelle shoots one last glare at Sarah Lynn before running off to comfort him. 

“Well, that went well,” snarks Bradley. He frowns. “Whose phone is that?”

“Shit, is there a phone ringing?” She checks her pockets. “Yeah, it’s mine.” She answers the call. “Hey, it’s Sarah Lynn!”

“Sarah Lynn?” The voice sounds unfamiliar, but it’s hard to tell if that’s due to actual unfamiliarity or just the distortion of the phone. “Um, you might remember me. I’m Princess Carolyn, and --”

She groans. “No, I don’t want to guest star in  _ Philbert.” _

“What? No!” There’s a short pause. “Look, I need to talk to BoJack, but he’s not answering his phone and I’m gonna be too busy to call him for the rest of the day. I’m having an adoption-related porcupine problem. Can you pass on a message?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. What is it?”

“I’m having some trouble getting him a stunt double for  _ Philbert,  _ and, uh, don’t freak out, but we  _ might  _ have to get him to do it himself. But it’s okay! We’ll have  _ loads  _ of safety technicians working on it, and loads of drugs if anything goes wrong!”

“That sounds irresponsible,” says Sarah Lynn. “I’ll tell him that when I get the chance. Bye.” She hangs up and turns to one of the lighting technicians. “Hey, how long until we start filming again?”

* * *

The next few hours of filming go relatively well, apart from the fact that Joelle only talks to her to recite Olivia’s lines and ignores her entirely once the camera turns off. During the lunch break, she takes a deep breath and taps Joelle’s shoulder. “Hey, do you wanna go get lunch together? There’s this nice cafe around the corner.”

Joelle rolls her eyes. “Yeah, sure, I’d  _ love  _ to listen to you making jokes about my eating disorder for an hour.” She fishes a credit card out of her purse. “I’ll pass.”

Sarah Lynn pouts. “I’m not going to do that. I know I used to be mean to you, but I’m  _ trying  _ to be better! I’ve changed now.”

_ “Changed?”  _ Joelle scoffs. “What, because you’ve gone a couple months without shooting cocaine? I know you’re just going to go back to drugs. Like you  _ always  _ do.”

She frowns. “Hey, that’s a low blow.”

“And joking about my eating disorder  _ isn’t?”  _ She turns to leave. “You absolute  _ cunt.” _

“But I haven’t made a joke about your eating disorder in, like, four months!” She frowns. “Could you at least give me a chance?”

“No.” She turns back and points a finger accusingly. “I’m  _ done  _ giving you chances.  _ Every  _ time you sober up, you act like you’ve  _ changed,  _ and then  _ every  _ time, you start back on the same bullshit. I’m  _ done  _ falling for it.”

“But --”

“Okay,” says Bradley loudly. “Let’s all take a deep breath.” Sarah Lynn takes a genuine breath to calm her rising frustration, while Joelle sighs irritably. “Okay, Joelle, I want you to say one nice thing about Sarah Lynn.”

Her face falls. “But --”

_ “One  _ nice thing.” 

She crosses her arms stubbornly, and mutters, “She’s a good musician.”

“Thanks,” says Sarah Lynn genuinely. 

“You’re not welcome.”

Bradley, pinching the bridge of his nose, turns to Sarah Lynn. “Okay, now I want you to say one nice thing about Joelle.”

“She’s…” She digs around in her mind for something to say,  _ woah,  _ she has  _ really  _ not been practicing thinking good things about Joelle like stupid-ass Doctor Champ told her to. “She’s, like, weirdly non-violent.”

Joelle groans loudly. “Oh,  _ come  _ on!” she protests.  _ “How  _ is that a compliment?”

“I gotta take Joelle’s side here,” says Bradley. “I mean, we could be playing limbo right now, what with the bar being so low and all.” He pauses. “Should we play limbo? Do you think the kids would like that?”

“I was being serious!” she protests. “It’s actually impressive. I mean, I’ve always kinda been  _ do-whatever-it-takes-to-get-what-you-want  _ type girl, but you actually  _ never  _ hurt people. Well, I mean, you tell me to kill myself and get raped a lot, which kinda hurts my feelings, but you never  _ physically  _ hurt people.”

“Again,” says Bradley. “The bar is so low right now we could play limbo with it. Not physically assaulting people is the  _ bare minimum.” _

“Sometimes it’s necessary,” protests Sarah Lynn. “Then again, what would I know? I didn’t have a single positive adult role model that hadn’t beat the shit out of somebody at some point.”

Joelle steps away from the door, frowning. “Herb?”

She laughs. “Oh, you’ve  _ clearly  _ never seen Herb pissed off.”

* * *

He came dangerously close to choking on the water he was halfway through sipping. “He did  _ what?!” _

Sarah Lynn waved a hand dismissively. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

BoJack stared at her with wide eyes. “How can --  _ that  _ \-- not be a big deal?!”

“It was just some  _ thing  _ he did, that’s all,” she explained. “I mean, I was child star, it wasn’t even that uncommon.”

Herb stood up. “Why didn’t we know about this until 2008, the year which it currently is?!”

“Eh, I was a kid, y’know? Didn’t really know what he was doing or why it was wrong. And everyone just assumed I was just weird about my stepdad because, I dunno, he was some strange new parent that  _ waltzed  _ into my family.” She snorted another line of white powder. “So, do you guys know if there’s anything good on TV right now?”

“Hang on,” protested BoJack. “You can’t just  _ say  _ something like that and then immediately start talking about TV. That’s messed up, that you went through that.”

“Ugh, don’t make a whole thing about it.”

_ “Whole thing?!  _ He  _ literally --  _ woah, Herb, you look  _ pissed.”  _ He turned to Herb, who was now furiously pacing around the living room, breathing frantically through his gritted teeth. 

Herb stopped pacing. He turned to BoJack, eerily calm. “I’m just gonna go and have a quick  _ chat  _ with him.” He turned to leave, then paused. “If I get arrested, bail me out.”

* * *

She tosses the packaging of her lunch into a nearby bin hurriedly, then gets chocolate icing all over her screen in her rush to answer the phone quickly. “Hey, BoJack, what’s up?”

“I’m freaking out,” he explains hurriedly. “I am  _ so  _ close to relapsing right now.”

Her heart skips a beat. “Shit, what’s going on?”

“Got dragged to my father-in-law’s house and he is drinking  _ so  _ much. And also talking a lot about dropbears.”

She tilts her head. “What are dropbears?”

“Well, depending on who you talk to, they’re either a koala cult that hides in trees waiting to drop down and assault random people that walk under them, or they’re a thing Australians made up to scare tourists.”

“Why would Australians need to scare tourists? Isn’t it scary enough already? We used it as a place to store criminals and it gets to like, a hundred degrees every summer.”

“That’s what I said! And apparently the kangaroo-boxing thing is  _ real?  _ I’m starting to feel like Australia is like, the international equivalent of Florida.”

“Well, I mean, it’s stupidly hot, weirdly south-east, and batshit crazy, so yeah, that checks out. Oh! Princess Carolyn called, she wanted me to pass on a message.” She thinks for a moment. “She’s, uh, she’s having an adoption-related porcupine problem, and she might not be able to get you a stunt double for  _ Philbert.” _

“Well, I’m  _ also  _ having an adoption-related porcupine problem, and I am  _ not  _ doing my own stunts. If I end up in hospital again Herb’s gonna kill me.”

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.” She frowns. “We’ve gotta start filming again soon. Are you gonna be okay?” 

He takes a deep breath. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be -- I’ll be good. I mean, I’ve gotta be. I’m the designated driver.”

“...Who designated you?”

“I designated myself. I mean, Herb’s sober too, but I think it’d kinda be a jerk move to make him drive.” There’s a short pause. “Oh shit, I gotta go. Bye.”

He hangs up before she can say it back. She frowns, then shrugs it off. When Joelle walks back into the room, Bradley stands between her and Sarah Lynn before either of them can say anything. “Okay, before we start filming, you know the drill: Both of you, say something nice about each other.”

There’s a long, painful silence.

Sarah Lynn goes first. “Joelle’s a really good actress.”

Joelle crosses her arms, but finally says, “Sarah Lynn’s actually kinda nice to talk to, when she’s not being a bitch. I mean, she has a good sense of humour.”

It’s not much. It’s only slightly easier to limbo under the low bar. But, Sarah Lynn takes it.

“Great,” says Bradley. “Now let’s start filming.”

* * *

Olivia’s halfway through giving Julia terrible advice on how to impress her unnecessary love interest, which directly conflicts with Sabrina’s terrible advice so that Julia can spend the episode taking their advice too literally before eventually learning a valuable lesson about balance and moderation, when another convenient lighting issue happens. Bradley leaves the room to go yell at the lighting technicians, and Sarah Lynn waits for Joelle to find an excuse to leave.

She never does.

“...Hey, Sarah Lynn?”

She looks up. “Yeah?”

Joelle is looking down at her shoes, fidgeting with her hands, visibly nervous. “Was your stepdad really …  _ like that?” _

Sarah Lynn frowns. “Dude, would I lie about that?”

“...I dunno. I mean, it’s not like you would never make shit up to get attention. You did once stab yourself with a rusty bayonet.” At her glare, she quickly adds, “Okay, okay, I believe you. I just … tend to take everything you say with a grain of salt.”

“Honestly, that’s fair.” She leans against a wall. “For the record, I was also telling the truth about the tampon thing.”

“... _ Jesus.”  _ She leans against the wall next to Sarah Lynn. “You know, if I’d known that you were going through, uh --  _ that --  _ at home, I probably wouldn’t have been so mean to you when I was a teenager.”

“Well, that’s  _ stupid.”  _ As she straightens up and starts to pace, Joelle raises an eyebrow at her, and she elaborates. “Does everyone have to send you signed documents of proof that they’re  _ suffering  _ before you’ll be nice to them? That’s just bitchy.”

Joelle smiles, slightly. “You’re one to talk.”

“Hey, I  _ never  _ cared about your eating disorder apart from how I could use it to bully you. I was just a bitch because I was angry at you. What did I ever do to you? Before, that I mean. On  _ Horsin’ Around.  _ Why did you hate me so much? I was just a kid.”

“... _ Because  _ you were just a kid.” She sighs. “I was, uh, I was going through a lot, you know? Teen angst and all that, plus an eating disorder, which is always fun. I just, I was at a point in my life when I felt powerless, and I needed someone smaller than me I could take it out on. And you were just a convenient target.” She frowns. “Was I really  _ that  _ awful? I mean, the show ended twenty-two years ago, and you only  _ just  _ stopped hating me. Did I actually bully you that much?”

“...Not  _ that  _ much,” she admits. “It’s just -- I was angry, about my childhood. I was angry at you, and my stepdad, and my mom, and all the adults who  _ could  _ have helped me if they’d noticed the signs that something was wrong at home. And I wanted everyone to  _ suffer,  _ to feel guilty for how they treated me, but my parents, they -- they wouldn’t listen. My mom never  _ really  _ saw me as a person and my stepdad didn’t see a  _ thing  _ wrong with what he was doing.”

Joelle’s eyes widen. “Cunt.” Nobody feels the need to tell her off for saying the word.

“But  _ you,  _ well… You  _ saw  _ me. You actually  _ cared  _ if I thought you were a bad person, and that really shocked me, because I wasn’t really used to  _ anyone  _ caring about what I thought, about  _ anything.  _ And at some point I realised I could use that to hurt you, and even if I couldn’t hurt my parents for what they did to me, I could hurt you. And, well… You know what happened.”

“Jesus,” says Joelle again. Sarah Lynn isn’t sure why. It’s not like Jesus is going to save them.

She opts to change the subject. “I hope Herb’s doing okay.”

“Oh yeah, Herb.” She narrows her eyes. “Were you serious earlier, about how I’ve clearly never seen him pissed off?”

“Mm-hmm.” She glances at the kids, who are currently in the middle of a game of tag. “He kicks ass when he needs to.”

“...Yeah, no. I can’t see it.” She thinks for a moment. “Well, I guess I can see him fighting in self-defense, maybe. But I don’t think he would throw the first punch.”

“Are you  _ kidding?”  _ chokes Sarah Lynn. “Herb would  _ totally  _ throw the first punch.”

* * *

“So let me get this straight,” said BoJack, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “You just  _ happened  _ to go to the asshole’s house literally  _ right  _ after you found out what he did to Sarah Lynn, to have a ‘chat’ with him, and I’m supposed to believe that the reason I walked in on him cowering on the floor, looking like someone had beaten the shit out of him, while you screamed at him, was because he  _ coincidentally _ fell down the stairs.”

Herb stared blankly out the window. “...Yes.”

“Repeatedly.”

“Yes.”

“And,” continued BoJack. “The reason you are  _ covered  _ in scratches, scratches that look suspiciously like they were from  _ bear claws,  _ is because … ?”

“...I also fell down the stairs?”

“What, am I just supposed to believe there was a convenient bear corpse on the floor or something and you kept falling onto its claws?”

“...Yes.”

There was a long, ominous silence.

“Well, that story seems like it checks out. And since you obviously didn’t assault the guy, and he just  _ happened  _ to fall down the stairs repeatedly, I see no reason to get the police involved.”

* * *

The rest of the episode’s filming goes by without event. The lighting technicians mysteriously get their shit together following Joelle and Sarah Lynn’s discussion, a fact which neither of them pay much mind to until Joelle makes a joke about it on her way outside and Bradley stares at her blankly.

The silence makes her turn back, frowning. “What?”

“You two didn’t realise?” asks Bradley.

“Didn’t realise  _ what?”  _ asks Sarah Lynn.

“There were no lighting issues.” At their astonished gaping, he gives an explanation. “We were ahead of schedule and could afford to lose some time, so I faked a bunch of lighting issues to get you to talk stuff out.”

They stare at him.  _ “Why?!”  _ chokes Sarah Lynn.

“I dunno, I thought it’d make Herb happy. And he helped me when my parents got divorced, so I kinda owed him one.”

There’s a long, painful silence.

Joelle grins. “Well, I guess it worked, huh?”

“...Yeah,” mutters Sarah Lynn. “You know, Joelle, I get that I haven’t always been your best friend, or your friend at all, or even remotely decent to you, but … I never really feel so  _ seen  _ as I do when  _ you  _ see me, you know? And I don’t think I’ve ever told you that.”

She genuinely smiles. “Thanks. And I meant that thing, about you being a good musician.”

Sarah Lynn manages a smile. “It’s weird, I don’t think we’ve actually  _ apologised  _ yet. So, I’m sorry.

“I’m sorry too. And, I forgive you.”

“I forgive you too.”

They hesitate, then pull each other into a long hug. 

When they finally separate and go their separate ways, Sarah Lynn knocks aside a bottle of nail polish as she puts her feet carelessly on her dashboard. Her car roars as the engine starts up. She calls BoJack. “So, Joelle and I are friends now.”

“Cool.” He doesn’t seem to care as much as she expected him too. “I’m gonna go out for a few drinks, wanna come?”

“What? No!” She frowns. “I thought you were sober now?!”

“It … doesn’t matter,” he answers blankly. “Nothing matters.”

Her eyes widen. “Jesus, what happened in Malibu?”


	18. The "Fun" of Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick trip to Malibu for Herb to get closure with his mother turns into an hour-long visit with his homophobic father, and things get out of hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoo this is a long chapter … might not get a chapter out tomorrow since I have work and ive got a super important school thing I gotta do

He tries to put the ringing phone in the large bucket of things he ignores in the hope that they’ll go away on their own, but his  _ stupid  _ therapist keeps telling him not to do that, so he puts down the hairbrush and answers it. He groans as soon as he sees the caller ID. “Hey, Sarah Lynn.”

“BoJack!” she yells. “Ugh, I  _ wish  _ you could be in the episode today.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says, somewhat irritably. “But I had to cancel last-minute because I’m going to Malibu for my mother-in-law’s funeral.” 

“That sounds like a whole thing.” 

“It is,” he explains. “I didn’t even know her, I’m just going for moral support.” 

Herb, overhearing this, sighs irritably. “There’s no morality in any of this. You’re just  _ emotional  _ support.”

“Sorry,” he corrects himself. “I’m going for  _ emotional  _ support. There’s no morality in any of this.”

“Oof. Well, make sure to have a good time and put the ‘fun’ in funeral.”

He raises an eyebrow. “...Yeah, that feels like it would be insensitive. We’re just going so Herb can get closure with his mom.”

“Closure, huh? When I want to get closure with someone, I generally just set their ottoman on fire.”

“What?”

“I’m serious,” she explains. “Like, when I was younger I used to  _ totally  _ resent you guys for failing to protect me when I was a kid and letting me stay in a bad situation. But then, remember that time I stabbed myself with a rusty bayonet and then visited? I set your ottoman on fire, and then I felt  _ so  _ much better.”

“...I am genuinely sorry.” His eyes widen. “Wait,  _ please  _ tell me that’s now how you’re planning to get closure with Joelle? Because that would  _ definitely  _ just make her angrier.”

She laughs. “No, don’t worry.” There’s a short pause. “I wish you were gonna be filming with us, though. I have  _ no  _ idea how I’m gonna apologise to stupid-ass Joelle.”

“Maybe you could start by not calling her stupid-ass Joelle?” He sighs. “Look, do me a favour, and, uh -- just  _ try  _ to fix things with her, okay? Just try your best.” He sounds downright anxious by this point. “Herb really cares about you two being friends. His mom died, which, as you know, is a whole thing. He could  _ really  _ use some good news at the end of the day.”

“You  _ got  _ it! I mean, how hard can it be to make Joelle stop hating me?”

“Probably very hard. Just try your best. Look, I gotta go. Bye.”

He hangs up and shoves his phone back into the pocket of his suit. He quickly finishes dragging a brush through his mane in a desperate attempt to get himself looking presentable before he goes down to the kitchen. The logical part of his brain knows that there’s no  _ point  _ in trying to make a good impression on Herb’s family, considering that they probably hate him already for supposedly dragging Herb into some gay cult or something, but there’s some part of him, the  _ stupidest goddamn part of him,  _ that still has some weird idea that if someone hates him it must be  _ his  _ fault, and if he can’t earn their approval with sufficient bragging and good deeds then it means he’s  _ failed. _

And, it doesn’t help that Todd keeps giving him  _ that look. _

“I can’t tell him now,” he hisses, voice low, as he paces through the kitchen. “I mean, come on, his mom just died! Do you really want me to add more stress right now?”

Todd just raises an eyebrow at him and says, “I didn’t even mention it.”

Okay, maybe Todd’s not really giving him  _ that look.  _ Maybe the image of that glare is just etched into his mind as a personification of his  _ guilt.  _ Some part of him, the  _ stupidest goddamn part of him,  _ knows that he  _ has  _ to tell Herb about Emily at some point. And worse, that  _ stupid goddamn part of him  _ won’t listen when he tells him that it doesn’t necessarily have to be  _ this  _ point.

He pokes his salad with a fork and briefly wonders if he can get away with “accidentally” taking so long to eat it that they just have to leave before he’s finished or they’ll be late. Probably not. Salad is Herb’s idea of a  _ compromise,  _ for when he doesn’t have the emotional energy to talk BoJack out of a spiral but he wants to make him eat  _ something,  _ because he doesn’t  _ get  _ it, doesn’t understand that  _ he has done nothing to deserve food today.  _ And he sucks it up and eats the stupid salad, because he’s not in the mood to make this a  _ whole thing  _ and Herb probably has more important things on his mind than forcing his idiot husband to eat, and also because  _ maybe if he eats then later he’ll be able to tell himself that that’s the only reason he feels guilty. _

This will probably not work. He tries it anyway. He finishes the goddamn breakfast, then goes back to his room and drags the stupid-ass brush through his mane one more time, god damn it,  _ why is it so hard to get his hair looking nice? _

Herb ducks his head into the room. “Hey, BJ, you ready?”

He takes one final glance at his reflection in the mirror, then takes a deep breath and nods. “Yeah. We’d better get going.”

“Yeah. Do you mind if I drive?”

BoJack raises an eyebrow at that, because he  _ never  _ minds if Herb drives. Herb is the one that actually  _ likes  _ driving, for some reason, and BoJack is the one that drags his feet every step of the way if asked to drive for more than ten minutes and up until recently was near-constantly in that little grey area, where he was certainly  _ able  _ to drive with his concerningly high alcohol tolerance but was also, legally speaking,  _ screwed  _ if he got pulled over. There is  _ no  _ reason why Herb driving would ever be an issue. 

He looks at Herb. He’s staring at the ground, shoulder slouched, wringing his hands. He hesitates, then says, “Why would I mind?” He frowns. “Are you okay, babe?”

Herb scoffs. “Of course I’m okay. I mean, I haven’t spoken to her in almost twenty-five years. Would I  _ really  _ be upset about someone who kicked me out of her life?”

BoJack blinks. “Uh, yes?”

“I’m  _ fine.” _

“Okay,” says BoJack. “But you do know it’s okay if you’re  _ not  _ fine, right?”

“...Yeah. Don’t worry about me, okay, BJ? I’m good.”

BoJack stares at him skeptically, but says nothing.

* * *

He doesn’t  _ say,  _ “So much for being  _ fine,”  _ but he certainly thinks it very loudly.

When the first few silent tears start to stream down Herb’s cheeks, BoJack doesn’t do much more than sling an arm around his shoulder and try to pretend he can’t notice the porcupine woman staring at him disapprovingly. It’s hard not to feel out of place. He’s not exactly used to going to funerals for people he didn’t know for  _ emotional support,  _ partially because BoJack Horseman is just about the  _ worst  _ person you could ask for emotional support. He just sort of listens blankly as a white horse with a long creamy mane gives the eulogy in an irritatingly thick Australian accent, and he only jolts a little when it’s mentioned that she was a grandmother at the realisation that he’s apparently an uncle, and that’s when he notices Herb’s breathing picking up.

“Oh my  _ God,”  _ he breathes. “I, I have relatives I didn’t even  _ know  _ about, and I’m probably never going to be allowed to meet them, and, and…”

He starts sobbing into BoJack’s shirt, and all BoJack can do is rub his back and mutter those meaningless saying that Herb would always say to calm him down, stuff like, “Shh, shh, it’s okay,” and “I’m here,” and he’s not sure how much it’s really helping but, well,  _ what else is there to say? _

The ceremony ends, and people begin to leave, and Herb just  _ freezes  _ in BoJack’s arms. Some unknown force pins him to the ground, and BoJack tells him that  _ they should go,  _ and he just  _ stays  _ there, probably getting sunburnt. It’s unpleasantly warm and sunny. Rain would probably be more fitting to the overall mood, but apparently nobody told the sky of this.

“Herb, come  _ on,”  _ he protests self-consciously. “We can’t just stay here all day.”

Herb sniffles. “She died hating me.”

“...I’m sorry.” 

“She used to  _ love  _ me.” He finally removes his head from BoJack’s shirt and wipes his eyes. “What  _ happened?” _

“I don’t know.”

He sniffles. “God, let’s just  _ go.”  _ He steps away from BoJack and almost immediately feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns sharply to face the horse that gave the eulogy. He doesn’t even  _ try  _ not to groan aloud. “What do you want?”

“Where do you think  _ you’re  _ going?” asks the horse. His voice is casual, but there’s an air of unconfidence, a trace of his not-unfounded fear of being rejected.

“Home,” snaps Herb. “I came here to do what I need to do, and now I’m leaving.”

“What, not even going to stop by and visit your old man?”

“No, I’m not.” 

The horse steps back, seeming genuinely shocked. Herb gives him a look, just  _ daring  _ him to ask again. He gulps.

“She, uh -- She left you some stuff.”

It’s Herb’s turn to step back in shock. “Why?!”

“She  _ did  _ raise you.” Herb opens his mouth to protest but the horse cuts him off. “So, do you want to come by and pick it up, or … ?”

Herb takes a deep breath. “You go ahead. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

With a vague nod of his head, the horse walks off. BoJack blinks. “Was that your dad?”

“Yeah.”

“I did  _ not  _ expect him to be so Australian.”

“He’s been in America for sixty years. I don’t know why he still sounds like that.” He sighs. “God, this is gonna suck.” 

“Yeah. I know.” 

“I guess we’d better get it over with.”

BoJack takes a deep breath. “Yeah,” he says uncertainly.

What else is there to say?

* * *

The first thing the goddamn idiot says when they knock at the door is, “G’day, mate.”

BoJack blinks. “We just got back from a funeral, how are we meant to have a good day?”

“It’s just some thing he says,” snaps Herb. “Because he’s so obnoxiously Australian.” He turns to his father. “Let’s get this over with, I’ve got a busy day of  _ cock-sucking  _ ahead of me.”

“Crikey,” remarks the horse before turning to BoJack. “The name’s Storm. And you must be BoJack?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Well, come on in!” He frantically gestures for them to enter, and BoJack uncertainly does so, Herb following him with his arms crossed. “Crikey, Herb, have you lost weight?”

“Yeah,” deadpans Herb. “I nearly died of cancer a few years back, which you would know if you hadn’t, you know,  _ disowned me.” _

Storm winces. “...Do you want a drink?”

BoJack immediately stiffens; Herb glares. “No, my husband’s a recovering alcoholic, which is another thing you would know if you’d interacted with me or even acknowledged my existence in the last twenty-five years.”

“Suit yourself.” He opens himself a beer, and BoJack  _ immediately  _ smells it, and he jolts with the realisation that he could just  _ drink,  _ just relapse, it would be  _ so  _ easy,  _ drink, drink, drink,  _ maybe then he would stop feeling so  _ guilty, guilty, guilty, guilty, guilty --  _

“So, uh,” he mutters loudly. “Nice … weather, we’re having?”

There’s a long, ominous silence.

“Yeah,” agrees Storm. “I guess it is.”

He nudges an ottoman with his foot. “Bit hot, though.”

And apparently, it’s the  _ worst  _ thing he could say.

“Are you  _ kidding?!”  _ chokes Storm. “Back when I lived in ‘Straya, it would get past forty degrees  _ every summer.  _ That’s Celsius, by the way, because that’s the measuring system we use for temperature in ‘Straya. So I was out working hard at my farms in the outback in the hot sun, and every day I would get symptoms of heat stroke, and meanwhile I had to look out for dropbears--”

“Dropbears?” chokes BoJack. “What are dropbears?”

“They’re a thing Australians made up to scare tourists,” says Herb, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Storm shakes his head rapidly, swinging around his beer,  _ just ask him for a drink, Herb’s too upset to stop you, you could just do it, it would make you stop feeling guilty, guilty, guilty,  _ and launches into a rant. “Nah, mate,  _ dropbears  _ are a cult of koalas that hide in trees waiting to drop down and assault you…”

He continues into a long rant about ‘dropbears’, and the whole time he’s just  _ drinking  _ and  _ drinking, you should drink too, it’s take the edge off everything, make you stop feeling so guilty, come on, just have a drink, it would be so easy, what made you think you could ever make it through life sober? _

He calls bullshit on Storm’s latest kangaroo-boxing anecdote, to which Herb corrects him that  _ actually  _ he’s telling the truth. Storm spills beer onto the table. BoJack excuses himself to go to the bathroom.

He leans on the sink, gasping for air.  _ Throw up. _

_ Yeah, great idea. Herb totally needs more stress right now. _

_ He doesn’t have to know. _

He frantically shakes the thoughts away, then gets out his phone. He calls Sarah Lynn. “Hey, BoJack, what’s up?”

“I’m freaking out,” he explains hurriedly. “I am  _ so  _ close to relapsing right now.”

“Shit, what’s going on?”

“Got dragged to my father-in-law’s house,” he explains. “and he is drinking  _ so  _ much. And also talking a lot about dropbears.”

There’s a short pause. “What are dropbears?”

“Well, depending on who you talk to, they’re either a koala cult that hides in trees waiting to drop down and assault random people that walk under them, or they’re a thing Australians made up to scare tourists.”

“Why would Australians need to scare tourists? Isn’t it scary enough already? We used it as a place to store criminals and it gets to like, a hundred degrees every summer.”

“That’s what I said! And apparently the kangaroo-boxing thing is  _ real?  _ I’m starting to feel like Australia is like, the international equivalent of Florida.”

“Well, I mean, it’s stupidly hot, weirdly south-east, and batshit crazy, so yeah, that checks out. Oh! Princess Carolyn called, she wanted me to pass on a message.” She pauses for a moment. “She’s, uh, she’s having an adoption-related porcupine problem, and she might not be able to get you a stunt double for  _ Philbert.” _

“Well, I’m  _ also  _ having an adoption-related porcupine problem, and I am  _ not  _ doing my own stunts. If I end up in hospital again Herb’s gonna kill me.”

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.” She pauses. “We’ve gotta start filming again soon. Are you gonna be okay?” 

He takes a deep breath. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be -- I’ll be good. I mean, I’ve gotta be. I’m the designated driver.”

“...Who designated you?”

“I designated myself. I mean, Herb’s sober too, but I think it’d kinda be a jerk move to make him drive.” He faintly hears Herb yelling from the other room and groans. “Oh shit, I gotta go. Bye.”

He hangs up quickly and runs out to the other room, where Herb, as predicted, is yelling at Storm. “ I'm not gonna give you  _ closure _ . You don't  _ get  _ that! You have to live with the shitty thing you did for the rest of your life. You have to know that it's never,  _ ever  _ going to be okay!

Storm gulps. “I just don’t  _ agree  _ with your  _ lifestyle,  _ that’s --”

“Do you know what it was like for me? I had nobody.  _ Everybody  _ left! I knew all those showbiz phonies would turn on me, sure, but  _ you?” _

“What’s going on?” asks BoJack.

Storm holds up his hands defensively. “I just tried to apologise for disowning him and he lost his shit.”

“Oh, don’t you  _ dare  _ try and -- forget it. You know what?” He turns away from him. “Just give me mom’s shit and I’ll go. I’ve stayed here too long already. We’re not here to fuck spiders.”

BoJack’s eyes widen. “Uh, what?”

“It’s an Aussie saying,” explains Storm. “I’ll, uh -- I’ll be right back.” He exits the room and returns a few moments later holding a plastic bag, which he hands to Herb. Herb sifts through it for a moment, and then his face falls. He takes out a large, thick book, and waves it accusingly.

“Wow,  _ thanks,  _ Dad. Passive-aggressive bullshit from a dead woman who hasn’t spoken to me since she told me I wasn’t her son anymore.  _ Real  _ nice.”

Storm steps back. “What?”

Herb slams the book onto the ottoman. “A  _ bible.  _ Wonder what  _ that’s  _ about.”

“It’s,” Storm says defensively. “It’s just, it’s a good gift for anyone who --”

“I’ve been athiest for a while, actually,” snaps Herb. “Which you would know if you hadn’t  _ disowned me.” _

“Well, maybe you need it, then!” He throws up his hands in frustration. “I don’t understand  _ where  _ we went wrong with you! We raised you to be a good Christian man, and then you went and abandoned us for your  _ sinful  _ lifestyle. Your mother wanted you to have that bible because she thought it wasn’t too late for you, but maybe it is! Maybe we’ve just  _ failed  _ you!”

Herb breathes hard through gritted teeth. “You did not fail me because I am not a failure.”

Storm hesitates, then sighs. “You’ll always be in my prayers.”

“Well, you can shove your  _ prayers  _ up your ass!” snaps Herb, anger at an absolute peak. “I’d offer to shove them up my own, but they would be the  _ worst  _ thing to end up in there -- and I’ve had  _ cancer  _ in my ass! And  _ so! Many! Dicks!” _

BoJack rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Okay, maybe we should --”

“You know what?  _ This  _ is what I think of your passive-aggressive bullshit.” He opens the bible to a random page, and grabs a lighter from the nearby counter.

BoJack’s eyes widen. “Herb, no --”

The pages catch fire before anyone can do anything about it. Storm watches with wide eyes as the flames start to spread to the ottoman. Then, he glares. “I will  _ not  _ tolerate such disrespect in my own house. You need to --”

_ Smack. _

He stumbles back with the hit, and stares at his son with disbelief. He’s halfway through some rant about how he  _ doesn’t want to fight him  _ when Herb draws back his fist and hits him again.

“Herb,” he warns. “You’re making a mistake here.”

“I’m not,” snarls Herb. He draws back his arm again, but before he can land the blow, Storm pushes him,  _ hard.  _ He falls backward into a wall and crumples to the ground with a pained grunt, and for a second Storm looks genuinely  _ guilty,  _ worried that he’s seriously hurt him. BoJack steps forward to help him up.

Then, the idiot, he  _ gets up. _

He grabs random items from his pathetic bag of inheritance and throws them across the room. Cups shatter as they hit the wall and a horseshoe comes dangerously close to breaking a window. He goes back to trying to fight Storm, hitting him until the horse loses his patience and pushes him hard enough to actually hurt,  _ so many times,  _ and at least once ends up burning himself on the flaming ottoman, until BoJack clears his throat and says, “Okay, I think that’s enough,” and grabs him by the arms. 

He’s still screaming profanity at Storm as BoJack drags him out. He sets him down just outside and turns back to survey the damage, wondering if there’s any way he can fix it, or if he’s in any way obligated to. The ottoman’s still on fire. Shattered cups turn the floor around the walls into a minefield, and Storm is staring at him. 

He gulps. “You have a lovely home.”

Storm, predictably, slams the door in his face. 

Herb stands there for several seconds, just trying to catch his breath. When he finally speaks, his voice is unsteady and it’s clear he’s on the brink of tears, but he tries to force a grin anyway. “Well,  _ that  _ went well.”

“It  _ absolutely  _ did not.” He turns to Herb, frowning. “Are you okay?” Herb gives him a look. “Physically, I mean. Did he hurt you?”

“Oh, I’ve  _ definitely  _ seen better days.” He winces. “But I mean, I don’t think I need medical attention, so I’m gonna call that a victory. Can you drive us home?”

“Of course.” He slings an arm around his shoulders and leads him to the car, then pauses. “Are you limping?”

“A little, I got pretty banged up.” 

BoJack doesn’t  _ say,  _ “Idiot,” but he certainly thinks it very loudly. He helps Herb into the car and then gets in himself, slamming his foot onto the pedal.

There’s a long, ominous silence.

“I don’t want to sound like I’m on his side,” begins BoJack cautiously. “Because I’m not, and I hate him. But I feel like you should know that that’s the  _ stupidest  _ thing you’ve ever done.”

Herb looks down at his knees. “I know.”

“I mean, the guy’s twice your size and used to box kangaroos, and you’re not even gonna grab a weapon? You could have had a decent book to hit him with, at least, but you set it on fire to prove a point.”

“I know.”

“And you threw the first punch  _ and  _ set his shit on fire, so you can’t really say it was self-defense. Which means if he decides to press charges, we’re both screwed.”

“I know.” His lip quivers. He buries his face in his hands.

BoJack tries to ignore it at first, tries to focus on driving and just let him cry it out himself, but Herb’s crying gets louder and louder until he’s damn near wailing and it would just be  _ cruel  _ to not at least  _ try  _ to help. He lets out a sigh, and pulls over. Herb almost immediately  _ flops  _ over into his lap, sobbing into his shirt again, and BoJack just uselessly rubs his back. “Shh, shh, it’s okay, baby, it’s okay…”

“No,” sobs Herb. “It isn’t.”

“You’re right. It isn’t. But I’m here.”

“She died hating me.” He sniffles. “And  _ he’ll  _ die hating me, too. And he’ll tell my sisters about that -- that  _ tantrum,  _ and nobody’s gonna tell me when he dies, and I’m never going to see any of them again.”

“So what? They’re dickheads.”

“I wanted to get  _ closure.” _

“I keep telling you, Herb, closure’s just a thing they made up to sell movie tickets.” He frowns. “Baby, promise me you’re  _ never  _ gonna do that again.”

He sniffles. “I won’t.”

“You know, you scared me back there.”

“I just lost my shit. I’m sorry.” He launches into another round of sobs. “Oh my God, I burnt my dead mother’s bible. What is  _ wrong  _ with me?”

“There’s nothing  _ wrong  _ with you --”

“There  _ is!”  _ He wraps his arms around BoJack tightly, continuing to sob. “I’m  _ bad!  _ I’m, I’m  _ broken,  _ and -- I have  _ nieces,  _ BJ! And I’m never gonna meet them! And my sisters are gonna have someone to remember them, but, but --  _ nobody’s  _ going to remember me when I die!"

He sobs harder and BoJack’s eyes widen. “Oh my God, where is this coming from?! Just -- Don’t think about that.  _ Loads  _ of people are gonna remember you when you die! You made a famous sitcom, remember?”

Herb doesn’t respond, and BoJack continues his useless attempts at comfort, “I’m here, it’s gonna be okay, calm down, I’m here,” and just lets him cry it out. 

It’s a long time before he finally moves his face away from BoJack’s shirt, turning so that he’s staring at the ceiling. He wipes his eyes. “Oh my God, I don’t know why I freaked out like that. And now I’m making us late home. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” BoJack insists. “Uh, are you good to get going again?”

“Yeah, I -- I think I’ve got most of it out of my system. And I want us home before we die of old age.” He winces. “Also the gear stick is kind of digging into my back.”

“Yeah, I was wondering about that.”

He sits back up and glances at his reflection in the rear view mirror. “God, I’m a mess. And I’m all bruised up, too. Todd’s gonna notice.”

“We don’t have to tell him anything.” He sighs. “I’m, uh -- I’m sorry I wasn’t more helpful. You know I’m not exactly great at comforting people.”

“You did fine.”

“All I did was tell you that I’m here and it’s gonna be okay.”

“Well, I mean, what else is there to say?”

And then, BoJack freezes. 

Herb’s eyes widen. “Woah, you look like you just got punched in the gut. BJ, you okay?”

BoJack hesitates, then tries to play it off. “Well, I mean, it’s been kinda a shitty day, y’know?” He gestures vaguely. “I mean, I woke up feeling like shit, your dad wouldn’t stop waving his alcohol around, and then I had to watch you fight him and that made me kinda freak out because I don’t like seeing people angry, and…”

Herb narrows his eyes. BoJack wilts under his stare. The word  _ guilty  _ floats through his head, asking to be addressed. He does so in a roundabout way. “...I wanna throw up.”

Herb’s face falls. “Why?”

“I feel guilty for eating breakfast,” he explains. “And I know I shouldn’t, and it’s not even my fault because you  _ made  _ me eat, but I feel guilty anyway because my brain is an idiot.”

“If you know it’s stupid then why the hell are you listening to it?” When BoJack doesn’t respond, he grins. “Checkmate.”

“Great thinking, but you can’t outsmart an eating disorder.” He slams his head against the steering wheel. “And I mean, it’s not wrong. I didn’t do  _ anything  _ to deserve breakfast today.”

“You don’t need to  _ do  _ things to deserve food, BJ. It’s the bare minimum. You earn it just by existing.”

He forces a chuckle. His voice breaks. “Well, maybe I’ve  _ un- _ earned it by being such a stupid piece of shit, did you think of that?”

“You’re not a stupid piece of shit. And, even if you were, you can’t  _ un- _ earn basic human rights by --”

“I’m not a human,” he snaps, and he should probably tell Herb that he’s not upset with  _ him,  _ he’s just frustrated that the word  _ guilty  _ is flopping around in his brain, demanding his attention, but instead, he says the  _ worst possible thing.  _ “And, you don’t even know what I did, so shut up.”

Herb frowns. “You  _ did  _ something?”

“Yeah.  _ Ages  _ ago. Should have told you before I went to rehab, but I didn’t, because I’m a stupid piece of shit. Local shithead is a massive asshole, what else is new?”

There’s a long, ominous silence. 

“What did you  _ do  _ that’s so bad you don’t deserve to eat?”

BoJack straightens up and waves a hand dismissively. “I’ll tell you later. You’re already upset.”

“Which is why you should tell me  _ now  _ instead of ruining it when I’m  _ not  _ upset. BJ, what did you do?”

“No,  _ really,  _ I, I shouldn’t tell you --”

“BJ, I just went to my mom’s funeral, had an argument with my dad, burnt my dead mom’s bible, and then had a  _ physical  _ fight with my dad. I don’t think my day can get any worse.”

BoJack takes a deep breath, forces a grin, and says in his most casual, joking tone, “So it wouldn’t make your day worse if you found out I cheated on you last year?”

Herb’s jaw drops. “What?”

“I know,” says BoJack defensively. “It was shitty, and I’m sorry, but -- we were fighting, and, uh, and she was fighting with her boyfriend too, and, um --”

“You cheated on me?!” chokes Herb. “And you’ve been lying about it for --  _ how  _ long?”

BoJack shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Eight months,” he murmurs.

“Eight months.” Herb repeats. He sits there, absolutely  _ fuming,  _ and for a second BoJack worries that he’s about to lean over and throw a punch. Instead, he leans in the opposite direction, and opens the passenger door.

“Herb, wait --”

He slams the door before BoJack can finish the sentence, and he’s out of sight while BoJack’s still sitting there, staring blankly at the steering wheel, trying to catch his breath. The word  _ guilty  _ stops flopping around in his head, demanding his attention, replaced by the words  _ none of this would have happened if you’d just drank away the guilt. _

When a ringing phone prompts him to check the time on his lock screen, he’s shocked by how long he’s just been  _ sitting  _ there, trying to  _ breathe,  _ failing to breathe. It’s Sarah Lynn. He answers it.  “So, Joelle and I are friends now.”

“Cool.” He doesn’t have it in him to care. “I’m gonna go out for a few drinks, wanna come?”

“What? No!” She sounds astonished. “I thought you were sober now?!”

“It … doesn’t matter,” he answers blankly. “Nothing matters.”

“Jesus, what happened in Malibu?”

“Herb’s mad at me,” he explains blankly. “He knows I cheated on him.”

“Wait, you cheated on Herb? ...And you want to relapse because of  _ that?!”  _ she chokes. “BoJack! Do you know why you shouldn’t do that?”

He shrugs. “Because sobriety good, glug glug bad, blah blah blah?”

“No,” she scolds. “Because Herb is  _ right  _ to be mad at you right now, and if you go back to all your old habits every time he calls you out for being a dickhead, that teaches him that he just has to put up with whatever you do in case telling you off makes you hurt yourself, and that is  _ never  _ okay!” She audibly sighs. “Where’s Herb now?”

“I dunno. He walked off.”

“Then  _ go after him!”  _ She clicks her tongue. “You have a choice right now, BoJack. You can either go and do something stupid and make it Herb’s job to be the bigger person  _ again,  _ or you can go and apologise to him like a goddamn adult. What’s it gonna be?”

“...You’re right.” He hangs up before she can protest. He leans back against the car seat and shuts his eyes. He takes a deep breath, and then makes his decision.


	19. A Horse Walks Into A Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herb struggles to process the news that BoJack cheated on him, as well as the events of the funeral and his fight with his dad. Todd gets a roomba to not have sex with.

A horse walks into a bar. Her friend says, “Why the long face?”

She rubs her arm nervously. “My brother  _ always  _ calls by now,” she explains. “And are we even allowed in here? We’re not twenty-one.”

Joby just sighs irritably and rolls his eyes. “We’re not drinking, so it’s fine. Besides, we’re adults. And if you don’t want to be here, you can just  _ go.” _

“Go  _ where?”  _ she protests. “It’s Sunday, there’s nothing open. This whole thing has ruined my  _ entire  _ Sunday routine.”

Tawnie raises an eyebrow. “Sunday routine?”

“Yeah! I sleep in stupidly late, spend an hour looking at social media in bed, eat junk food for breakfast, talk to my brother on the phone, and then do my homework! And now that routine is  _ ruined,  _ because I spent all day waiting for my brother to call and I still have homework to do.”

“...Why didn’t you just do your homework while you waited?”

“That’s not how it  _ works,  _ Tawnie.”

Joby stares at her. “Well, if you’re that upset about your brother not calling, why don’t  _ you  _ just call  _ him?” _

“I tried,” she explains irritably. “It went to voicemail. I could call his husband, I guess.”

“Then  _ do  _ that,” hisses Joby. “This problem has a solution, so solve it and quit complaining.”

Hollyhock sighs. “He probably won’t pick up.” She scrolls through her contacts and calls Herb, then waits for him to pick up. “And are you sure we’re allowed in here if we’re not twenty-one?”

“If you don’t want to be here then just go,” says Tawnie.

Herb finally answers the call, and Hollyhock excuses herself to talk to him outside where she can actually hear him over the crowds of the bar. “Hey, Herb, is everything okay? You didn’t call as early as you normally do.”

Herb is silent for a long time, and she’s on the verge of asking if he’s still there when he says, “Oh shit, it’s Sunday, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry, I, uh -- I was gonna text you to say I probably wouldn’t be able to call this week, but I guess I forgot.” He pauses. “We had to go to a funeral.”

Her hand moves to her mouth. “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. We weren’t close. I hadn’t talked to her for twenty-five years. I don’t know  _ why  _ I went.” There’s a short pause. “...Yeah. I do.” 

She frowns. “Uh, what?”

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” He clears his throat. “Hey, Hollyhock?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever feel… out of place?” His voice is starting to break by this point. “Like, your whole life is just made of all these puzzle pieces that don’t quite …  _ fit?  _ And after a while you start to think, maybe  _ you’re  _ the piece that doesn’t quite fit? And that’s why other people don’t make  _ sense,  _ and everyone just instinctively  _ knows  _ everything, but you don’t  _ get  _ it, because you’re just some  _ broken  _ piece that isn’t meant to be there. Does that make sense?” He pauses. “That didn't make sense, did it? Yeah, I’m not making sense, I ruined that by using too much puzzle piece imagery. Just ignore me.”

“Oh, if you think the question had too much puzzle piece imagery, then you are  _ not  _ gonna like the answer.” She frowns. “You sound depressed. Did you have a bad day?”

“Well, I had to go to a funeral for my mother, who died hating me, and then I went to my homophobic dad’s house. I had an argument with him, then he gave me a bunch of passive-aggressive gifts and I had a  _ physical  _ fight with him. Then I started crying in the car on the way home, and just as I’d finished angsting about how I’m such a huge dickhead that I  _ set my dead mom’s bible on fire  _ BJ told me that he cheated on me. So I’d say my day’s been pretty shitty. What about yours?”

“Well, I have homework to do, and I didn’t do it because I was feeling lazy. So, uh, about the same.”

“Yeah, I’d say we’ve had roughly equally shitty days.” He pauses. “What’s your homework?”

“Oh, just some boring science stuff. That reminds me, yesterday I was messing around with chemicals trying to impress Joby, and I accidentally made a completely new scientific breakthrough. So that’s a whole thing.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it’s  _ such  _ a thing. And for some reason it’s super flammable and when it’s on fire it can only be put out with salt water? Super inconvenient.” She frowns. “Where’s BoJack?”

“Uh, he’s probably back at the car. I walked off after I found out he cheated on me.”

“Oh.” Her frown deepens. “And he didn’t follow you?”

“I think he could tell I wanted to be alone.” 

“You sure he’s not about to follow you?” she insists. “I mean, I kinda feel like he would.”

“I don’t really care.” He audibly sighs. “If he finds me and tries to pull some  _ ‘just tell me what I can do to make you feel better’  _ bullshit, you know what I’m gonna say to him?”

She gulps. “What?”

“If he  _ really  _ cares about me, then he’s gonna give me a lift home,  _ very quietly.  _ And then he’s gonna grab his shit and find a friend to crash with, because I need time alone to process this  _ bullshit.” _

“...Uh, okay.”

“I’m sorry. You’re just a kid, I shouldn’t be dumping this on you.”

She narrows her eyes. “Hey, I’m a legal adult.”

“Yeah, every time someone says that it makes them seem younger. I gotta go. Bye.”

* * *

He’s halfway through a ramble about how he  _ knows  _ the funeral probably wasn’t too great but maybe  _ this  _ will cheer them up, look what arrived, it’s his roomba, when he realises  _ maybe  _ he should shut up now.

“Um,” he mumbles uncertainly, still holding his roomba, as BoJack shamefully walks inside, Herb following with a glare. “What --”

The rest of the sentence dissolves in his mouth. Herb takes a seat on the couch, arms crossed. BoJack goes upstairs with his head low and returns several minutes later with his  _ SPY SHIT  _ bag slung over his shoulder. 

“Woah,” says Todd. “What --?” 

“Don’t ask,” snaps Herb, visibly fuming. 

Todd, frowning, stands up and marches over to BoJack. “Dude, what --”

“I hope you’re happy,” BoJack hisses.

“What do you --”

“I told him.”

“...Oh.” His face falls. “Well, uh, great honesty.”

“Yeah, that turned out  _ great.”  _ He turns to Herb and clears his throat nervously. “Babe, I, uh --”

“I need time alone,” snaps Herb, not looking at him. 

Todd blinks. “But I’m here.”

“You know what I mean.”

BoJack walks over to the front door and pushes it open. He starts to leave, then turns back. “I-I’m sorry.” His voice is breaking. “And, and I know you’re still pissed, and I can’t even blame you for that, but I am  _ so  _ sorry. I just want you to know that.”

“I already do,” says Herb.

BoJack hangs his head and exits.

Todd turns to Herb. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” says Herb. He checks his phone. No notifications. “I’m going upstairs.” He goes before Todd can protest. He quickly gets changed, into pyjamas, at  _ lunchtime,  _ because he’s  _ pathetic.  _ Then he realises it’s lunchtime, and he’d better make lunch, but he scrolls through his social media first. 

He thinks about the events of the morning, and how  _ his mother died hating him and so will the rest of his family,  _ and  _ he let things get so bad when he was fighting with BoJack that he cheated on him,  _ and  _ he burnt his dead mom’s bible, what a sick freak.  _ A thought pops into his head, and suddenly he wants  _ everyone  _ to know how he feels.

Well, not  _ everyone.  _ Hollyhock doesn’t need to know, so Instagram is out. Todd would probably never leave him alone if he knew, so he eventually decides on Twitter, which is basically the only site he has an account on where neither of them will see the post. He types out a tweet.

He hesitates. Then, he presses the post button. Some self-destructive force compels him to turn his phone off, so he won’t receive any of the inevitable notifications, and then he goes downstairs to make lunch.

* * *

“In a surprising turn of events, I am a sad, sad man living in a terrible, dirty house.”

She stares at him, at his head hung in shame, his visibly fragile grin at his own joke, the bag slung over his shoulder. “Uh, do you need somewhere to crash?”

“Yeah,” he says blankly. 

“I mean, you can sleep on the couch if you want, but I wouldn’t recommend it.” He comes inside and she frowns. “Where’s, uh -- where’s Herb?”

“Home.” At her glare, he adds, “We’re in a fight and he wants some time alone.”

She narrows her eyes. “What did you do?”

“...Cheated.” As she gapes, he rushes to defend himself. “I mean, we were fighting at the time, and the girl was fighting with  _ her  _ boyfriend, and, and --”

“Oh my God.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “You have to fix this. You know that, right?”

“Right now, what I  _ have  _ to do is give him some space. Which is why I’m here.” He slumps onto the couch and takes out his phone. “...Holy shit.”

“What?”

“Did you see what Herb posted on Twitter?”

“No, what did he …” He shows her his phone screen. She reads it and her face falls. “...Oh.”

* * *

He frantically shakes his burnt hand, rushing to turn the tap on to run it under cold water. He aims a spiteful kick at the  _ stupid  _ thing that made him trip and break his fall by touching the stove like an  _ idiot,  _ then frowns. “Todd, did you get a roomba?”

“Mm-hmm,” says Todd smugly. “I ordered it a while back but it arrived while you were out. Don’t you think it’s  _ not  _ sexy?”

Herb blinks. “...What?”

“I’m just saying,” continues Todd. “I mean, if you had to pick a robot that had absolutely  _ no  _ sexual appeal, that you would never even  _ think  _ of having sex with, it would be a roomba, right?” While Herb continues to stare at him blankly, he adds, “Seriously, am I on the right track? I don’t feel sexual attraction but I was  _ sure  _ nobody would want to have sex with a roomba.”

Herb pinches the bridge of his nose. “I might regret asking this,” he says cautiously. “But why did you order a roomba?”

“...”

* * *

“Todd, come  _ on,”  _ she protested. “I said I’m sorry.”

“I know,” said Todd, crossing his arms. “And I said, I’m still upset that you betrayed my trust like that.” 

“But I promise, I would  _ never  _ do that again.” She frantically gestured toward the amalgamation of random metals and sticks that she had assembled in the corner. “The only reason I cheated on you was because I was frustrated with your asexuality. But, I’ve figured out a solution! I’m going to make a  _ sex robot  _ to take care of my needs.”

He blinked. “Wait, what?”

“It’s a work-in-progress,” she explained, blushing slightly. “Come  _ on,  _ Todd. I know I hurt you, and I know it was wrong. But please, give me another chance. I can be better than that.”

Todd narrowed his eyes. “But wait, how come  _ you  _ did something bad and then you get a sex robot as a reward? That’s not fair.  _ I  _ was the one that was hurt and I don’t get a robot?!”

Emily blinked. “Do you want a sex robot?”

“Maybe I want a  _ not-sex  _ robot, did you think of that?”

There was a long, painful silence. 

“Um,” said Emily. “I guess I can make you a specific robot to  _ not  _ have sex with.”

“Hmmf!” said Todd, turning away from her, pouting. “I don’t  _ need  _ you to make me a not-sex robot. I can get my own! In fact, I’m going to go and buy myself a robot to not have sex with  _ right now,  _ and I bet it’ll be  _ way  _ less sexy than anything you could make!”

* * *

“...No reason,” Todd answers finally.

“Well, could you, I dunno, give me some warning or something next time? It got under my feet and made me trip and burn myself.” He holds up his burnt finger, which has stopped its relentless throbbing after a minute or two under running water but still stings a little. “Ugh, what time is it?”

“Uh…” Todd checks his phone. “Like, almost two PM?”

“Ah, shit.” He groans. “Can you keep an eye on the food? I’ve gotta go check my phone.” 

Todd nods, and Herb goes upstairs to grab his phone, which he carelessly tossed onto his bed before he started on lunch. The second he turns it on he’s swarmed by notifications, but he ignores all of them except the one voicemail he decides to listen to.

“Hey, Herb. I, uh -- I know you probably don’t want to hear from me right now, which is probably why you told me to leave you alone and then declined this call. And I mean, really, I get it. You don’t have to call me back if you don’t want to, I just -- I’m just worried, you know? And I wanted to apologise. Again. I know I’ve said it, like, a  _ kajillion  _ times, and you’re probably super annoyed by now, but, I, uh -- I’m sorry.”

Herb just rolls his eyes at that, because yes, he  _ has  _ said it a kajillion times, and yes, he  _ is  _ getting super annoyed by now. The voicemail continues.

“I’m, uh, I’m with Diane at the moment. And I’ve been thinking, you know, doing some self-reflection, and I realised, I, uh -- remember that fight we had, in the hospital? After I OD’d and then picked a fight with you because I felt guilty for being an idiot? Yeah, that was a dick move on my part. Obviously. Anyway, I, uh -- I just remembered that, uh, that you said you feel like you were born broken. And I just realised that I never actually checked back with you after you said that, because, I mean -- there was a lot going on at the time, and then I went to rehab, and by the time I was sobered up I assumed you were fine, but then you said that stuff in the car ride home, and, um…”

Herb shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“I saw your tweet. Obviously. And I just wanted to say that, uh, in case you  _ don’t  _ end up forgiving me for this -- which is fair, honestly -- that these have been the best twenty-five years of my life, and I’ve improved  _ so  _ much with your help. So, thank you. And … I’m sorry. And, it’s gonna be okay. And,  _ thank you.” _

Herb gulps.

“This is BoJack, by the way.” This was obvious, because BoJack is saved in his contacts, but he doesn’t have the heart to stop listening now. “Horseman, obviously.”

Herb stares at his phone. “...Hmm.” He’s about to decide whether he wants to read the replies or go back to finish lunch when an incoming call from Mr. Peanutbutter makes the decision for him. He answers it. “Hey, Mr. Peanutbutter.”

“Hey,” says Mr. Peanutbutter in an uncharacteristically serious voice. “Look, um…” He clears his throat, and when he talks again it sounds like he’s  _ trying  _ to joke around, but not necessarily succeeding. “Are you J.K. Rowling? Because … You wrote some  _ amazing  _ stuff back in the 90s, but now I’m just kind of concerned by your tweets.”

“I’m fine,” lies Herb through gritted teeth. “Just had a shitty day and was in a bad mood, that’s all.”

“Are you sure?” he presses. “Because, I mean, you don’t  _ sound  _ fine.”

“I’m good. Don’t worry about me.” 

“Okay, but, um… You know you can always call me if you need to talk, right?”

“Yeah. I gotta go. Bye.” He hangs up, probably just making him more worried, and begins to go through the texts he received while his phone was off. They’re all the same generic messages of “are you okay?” and “talk to me if you need anything” and “hey, I saw your tweet, I mean, obviously you know I saw it because I hit the like button, and I just wanted to clarify that I didn’t press the like button because I *like* it, you know? I don’t like that you felt that way, I just meant it in, like, a supportive way. Just wanted to clear that up.”

He responds to them all with variations of “I didn’t mean it” and “sorry if i made you worried” and “i was just in a bad mood and wanted to make it everyone else’s problem, haha isn’t BJ a bad influence on me?” and it’s all very  _ funny,  _ it’s just  _ hilarious  _ how he’s been living with BoJack for so long that he feels bad and immediately feels the need to overdramatize it and make everyone worry about him, and it’s a little less funny once you realise that BoJack hasn’t done anything like that really since he sobered up, but, well, everything’s funny if you laugh at it, right?

He goes to Twitter. When he sees the tweet he posted, he scrolls past it because just seeing his own words an hour or two later fills him with shame, but indulges in reading the replies. It’s all more of the same, except without the nagging voice in the back of his head telling him that  _ if they care enough to text you then you’re just being a dick by not responding.  _ There’s also a homophobic incel who hate-follows him and regularly re-tweets from Neo-Nazis replying with absolutely  _ vile  _ things, but hey, that’s Twitter for you, huh? He gives a few generic responses and blocks the incel. Then, he takes a deep breath, and scrolls up to read the original tweet.

On instinct he cringes, because _ God,  _ if he’s going to try and make it everyone else’s problem when he’s feeling sad, could he at least phrase it a little better so people won’t be worried sick about him? He shakes his head and thinks for a moment, then decides there’s no reason why all of his thoughts need to be a public spectacle and he should delete it. Before he hits the delete button, he reads it one more time. 

_ I want to kill myself.  _


	20. Downer Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah Lynn tries to cheer Herb up, and they end up working on his book together, along with Todd.

It’s a little after nine in the morning when he finally wakes up from a night of restless sleep. He can’t even reach for his phone on the nightstand without wincing; every single part of his body seems to be protesting at every movement of his muscles, every bruise burning with a vengeance, reminding him of the events of the previous day. But, he has nobody to blame but himself. As Todd would say, if he wasn’t too much of a coward to tell Todd what happened, he opened this can of worms and now he has to lie in it.

He checks his phone. There’s a few concerned texts about his tweet, which he replies to saying he didn’t  _ mean  _ it even though he feels like part of him kind of did. He’d quite like to just  _ stay  _ there, in bed, on his phone, ignoring all of his responsibilities for the day. It’s not even just that he’s depressed; a day of rest would probably help with the soreness from the fight. But sleeping in this late is probably already toeing the line on how much he can stay in his room before Todd will come in to see if he’s okay. Besides, he’s all sweaty and gross -- he needs to shower.

So, he drags himself out of bed. He says good morning to Todd on his way to the bathroom, and Todd says it back while staring weirdly at him, probably at how bruised he undoubtedly is. Before he showers he checks his reflection in the mirror -- yeah,  _ definitely  _ bruised. That’s a black eye, which he probably could have avoided by getting an ice pack yesterday but now it’s too late, and a huge part of his neck is purple, and his left shoulder is actually kind of swelling up from when he slammed it into a wall yesterday. He cautiously moves it, and -- yep, definitely injured, should probably get that checked out.

He showers, then gets dressed, into more pyjamas, because he’s  _ pathetic.  _ He makes himself something resembling breakfast completely on autopilot, to the point where it’s not until he’s already sat down and taken a bite that he realises what he’s actually  _ made.  _ “A mustard sandwich?” he mumbles to himself. “I may be an orphan, but spare me my dignity.” He then proceeds to laugh at his own joke.

Todd comes into the room and says, “So, uh…” He gestures vaguely. “What happened to your, y’know… ?”

“Got into a fight,” he explains vaguely. “It was my own fault. I punched a gift horse in the mouth.”

His eyes widen. “You mean --”

“No, not BJ. Different horse. I -- I don’t want to talk about it.”

Todd frowns, but apparently decides to let it go, because the next thing he asks is, “Do you need, uh, a panadol or something? Some ice?”

Herb says, “I think I’m good,” even though his shoulder is absolutely  _ throbbing  _ and that’s not even the worst of it. Then, for good measure, he adds, “Looks worse than it is.”

He finishes breakfast and tries to look on the bright side. This would be easier if he actually had a clue what the bright side  _ is,  _ or even if there is one at all. He eventually decides on the fact that going to his mom’s funeral, setting his dead mom’s bible on fire in a fit of rage, having a physical fight with his dad,  _ and  _ finding out his husband cheated on him, all in the span of one day, is  _ probably  _ the worst it can get, and now that he’s survived that he can probably survive the aftermath, and really, things can only go up from here.

He’s just about to think that that’s a  _ terrible  _ thing to think, and he’s probably jinxed it and made sure things somehow manage to get worse, when a knock at the door makes him gulp. 

Hesitantly, he answers it. Sarah Lynn bounds into his living room without bothering to ask permission, and yells, “Wow, won’t you look at the time! It’s  _ cheer up Herb  _ o’clock!”

* * *

He stared at his reflection as he leaned on the sink, fighting for a full breath of air. He very nearly jumped as the door creaked open. “Shit,” he mumbled guiltily as BoJack walked in. “Did I wake you up?”

“No, I just had to piss,” answered BoJack, before proceeding to do exactly that, which rather ruined the moment, honestly. Herb turned away from him and turned the tap on, splashing a few handfuls of water onto his face.

“What’s got you so freaked out?” asked BoJack, still peeing.

Herb remained silent for a long time. “...Had a nightmare,” he finally admitted.

“Oh yeah, I had one of those the other night. I think it was the 90s or something, because I had stupid hair and I went to go film an episode of  _ Horsin’ Around,  _ but when I got to the set, I had no pants. Then the chandelier grew wings and started chasing me around the room while flying.” 

Herb forced a chuckle. “Bird wings or insect wings?”

“Bat wings. And when it touched me, my teeth fell out. Can I wash my hands?” 

Herb stepped away from the sink so BoJack could wash his hands, which he quickly began doing. He frowned. “So what was your nightmare about?”

Herb froze.

“Oh, shit.” He hurriedly turned the tap off and wiped his hands on his own fur.  _ “That  _ nightmare?”

“Mm-hmm,” mumbled Herb meekly.

“Shit, sorry, didn’t realize.” He took a step forward, eyeing Herb cautiously. “Do you, uh, do you want a hug?”

Herb didn’t answer, but he nodded slightly, and BoJack pulled him into a tight embrace. “Thanks,” he finally murmured. 

“It’s fine,” BoJack insisted. “Wake me up if that happens again, okay?”

Herb shook his head. “It’s  _ not  _ gonna happen again.” BoJack opened his mouth for a rebuttal but Herb cut him off, “It was fifty-two years ago. I’m  _ fine.” _

BoJack raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

* * *

Herb groans as Sarah Lynn takes it upon herself to  _ flop  _ down onto his couch. “What are you doing here?” His voice drops to a near-whisper. “Is this about the tweet I posted yesterday? Because I didn’t mean it. And, I already deleted it.”

“Are you  _ kidding?”  _ chokes Sarah Lynn. “The Internet is  _ forever.  _ Deleting something just makes it  _ more  _ real! Just like how John  _ tried  _ to delete all the posts he re-tweeted from Neo-Nazis, but I already knew it was him, so I hopped into his DMs and sent him the entire  _ Bee Movie  _ script.”

Herb tilts his head. “John?”

“The homophobic incel that replied telling you to ‘go ahead and do it’. He’s kind of a dick.”

Todd frowns. “Go ahead and do  _ what?” _

“Nothing!” said Herb hurriedly. “I didn’t mean it anyway, you don’t need to worry about it.” He turns to Sarah Lynn. “So how much did BJ tell you about what happened yesterday?”

“Just that you found out he cheated on you, and that it was your mom’s funeral. How  _ was  _ that, by the way? Did you get closure? Did you set your mom’s ottoman on fire like a badass?”

“...Yes,” says Herb, after a long pause. He refuses to specify which of those questions he’s saying yes to. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, I gotta, say, I’m  _ loving  _ the ‘I haven’t slept in a week and then I got beat up’ look. You are  _ rocking  _ it. Oh, I know what we should do! Give me your phone.” She holds out a hand expectantly. Herb does no such thing.

She pouts. “Do you want me to cheer you up or not?”

“I think I’ve made it very clear that I do not.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun. Come  _ on!  _ Quit being such a party pooper.” 

He hesitates. “...What do you want it for?” he asks finally.

“To see your music. You can tell a  _ lot  _ about a person by the music they listen to. Or the music they make!” When he reluctantly hands his phone over, she scrolls through it and her eyes widen. “...Woah. Wanna hear a story?”

“No,” says Herb, fully aware that she’s about to tell the story anyway.

“So, it was 2011. I went to go visit my mom, which was stupid, because she sucks. My stepdad wasn’t there because the last time he interacted with me I came here to vent to you guys, and then he  _ inexplicably  _ fell down the stairs, repeatedly. Anyway, I mentioned I was gonna get my flu shot, and my mom went on this  _ whole  _ rant about how  _ vaccines are bad, actually.” _

Todd tilts his head. “Was it all based on theories that have been thoroughly debunked?”

“You bet. Except, thing is, I wasn’t in the mood to fight her on it, so I was just like, ‘yeah, sure, I’ll skip the flu shot’. And then for some reason I followed through.  _ Big  _ mistake. I was stuck in bed for, like, two weeks.”

Todd frowns. “What does this have to do with anything?”

“I just think it’s kinda disappointing, you know? That I was that sick for that long because I didn’t wanna get vaccinated, and then reading the song titles on Herb’s music playlists gave me autism anyway.”

Herb groans. “This is  _ not  _ cheering me up.”

“Well, what  _ would  _ cheer you up? I mean, you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t want to just hang -- you’re just making people worry about you and then not letting them help. No offense, but you’re kind of pulling a BoJack.”

Herb winces. “Okay, you know what would _actually_ cheer me up?” He thinks for a moment. “If you guys helped me finish my novel that I wrote when I had cancer.”

Sarah Lynn immediately jumps to her feet. “This is gonna be  _ epic.” _

* * *

He sleepily rubbed his eyes. “Same one?” 

“Mm-hmm,” Herb murmured.

“I won’t say I told you so.” Herb continued to stare at him with wide eyes, gripping a handful of the blanket in his fists, and his features softened. “Oh, come here.” He sat up and patted the mattress next to him. When Herb moved toward him, he slung an arm around his shoulders and held him close. “Shh, babe, you gotta breathe.”

“I’m  _ fine,”  _ Herb insisted. “C’mon, BJ, I’m too old for this.”

“So?” protested BoJack. “Todd’s too old to be sleeping on our couch with no intention of getting a job. I’m too old to spend an hour googling whether conversion therapy is legal for consenting adults because I saw an annoying tweet. Mr. Peanutbutter’s too old to post annoying stuff on Twitter like ‘Is my sexuality an NSYNC song released on January 11, 2000? Because…’--”

Herb raised an eyebrow. “Who is this conversation for, again?”

“You. But, in my defense, it  _ was  _ a shitty tweet.”

“Ugh.” He buried his face in BoJack’s fur. “You should go back to sleep. You’ve got filming tomorrow.”

“I’ll be good,” he insisted. “I can have coffee. And, I  _ told  _ you to wake me up if it happened again.”

“Well, it was a stupid thing to tell me.” He sighed. “I haven’t had that nightmare in  _ years.  _ I don’t know  _ why  _ it came back all of a sudden.”

“...Really?” asked BoJack, raising an eyebrow. “You can’t think of  _ any  _ possible reason?”

“Nope.”

“...You’re  _ sure?”  _ BoJack continued. “I mean, there are  _ no  _ recent events that might have somehow reminded you of --”

“BJ,  _ don’t,”  _ he warned. “And, it’s not the same. Different moms.”

“I know, but, I mean, the  _ idea  _ is similar --”

“Idea?” He removed his head from BoJack’s fur and tilted it curiously. “It’s not an  _ idea,  _ it’s real life.”

“You know what I mean.”

“BJ, I’m  _ fine.”  _ He playfully elbowed BoJack in the ribs. “See? You’re being overprotective. I’m okay, so you can go back to sleep.”

“...Okay,” said BoJack skeptically. 

* * *

They have no  _ idea  _ how to end the story.

“He finds the murderer?” suggests Todd weakly.

“Too obvious,” insists Sarah Lynn, waving a hand dismissively. “We gotta have a  _ twist  _ ending! Like, what if he finds the murderer, but then after, he ruins everything cause he’s a shithead?”

“Basil Cooke is  _ not  _ a shithead,” says Herb defensively. “He’s morally grey, but like, in a cool and edgy way.”

“He  _ literally  _ kills his dad in chapter fourteen. Which, by the way, makes  _ no  _ sense. If his dad’s a horse and his mom’s a human, then how can his sister be a porcupine?”

“Recessive genes,” says Herb, waving a hand dismissively. His eyes light up. “Oh, I  _ know  _ how it has to end!”

“How?” asks Todd.

“Basil finds the murderer, and is about to kill him, but he  _ misses  _ and shoots the hostage instead. And then he has to live with the guilt of killing a child his whole life.”

There’s a long, ominous silence.

“Yeesh,” mutters Todd. “Downer ending.”

“Would that be realistic?” asks Sarah Lynn. “Like, with the gun aiming physics? Could that actually happen?”

“I don’t know,” answers Herb.

“Well, let’s find out! Get me a gun and we’ll test it. Come on, brap brap, pew pew!” Her eyes widen. “Oh my gosh, guys, I just had an  _ epiphany!” _

“What is it?” asks Todd.

“Pro-lifers always say abortion is pre-natal murder, but really, murder is just a post-natal abortion!” Her fingers clack on the keyboard. “We gotta change the book so that every instance of the word ‘murder’ is replaced by the word ‘post-natal abortion’!”

“...Sure,” says Herb. “Why not? Throw it in.”

“Okay, now we gotta test out this gun aiming thing. Where do you guys keep your gun?”

“We, uh…” Herb rubs the back of his neck nervously. “We don’t actually have one.”

“Seriously?” chokes Sarah Lynn. “Dudes, this is  _ America.  _ What if someone comes to your house with a gun and you don’t have anything to defend yourself with?”

“...Then I guess we’ll get shot,” says Todd.

Herb stiffens. “I think it’s  _ incredibly  _ messed up that we live in a country where that’s something we actually have to think about.”

“Then why don’t you move?”

“Eh, that’d be a whole thing. Besides --” He turns to Sarah Lynn. “What are  _ you  _ gonna do if someone comes to your house in the night  _ without  _ a gun, and then they use your gun to kill you?”

“...Then I guess I’ll get shot,” she answers. “But I mean, what kind of lousy post-natal aborter comes without a weapon? Sounds pretty stupid.” She stands up. “I can go grab my gun from my house if you guys want.”

“That’s -- that’s not necessary!” Herb insists. “We don’t need a  _ real  _ gun to test the aiming, we can use…” He grabs the nearest object. “This broom!”

They stare at him. 

“I’m serious! If Todd’s the murderer -- sorry, the post-natal aborter -- and Sarah Lynn’s the kid, then if I just aim here, see…” He aims the broom like a gun, wincing as the slight pain in his shoulder, then pretends to fire. “Okay, imagine I just shot.”

Todd takes this too literally and kneels to the floor, clutching at his chest. 

“Hmm,” says Herb. “Maybe I need to tweak the settings on the imaginary gun.”

Todd stands up and marches over to Herb, placing his hands on his shoulders. “Herb --”

“Shh,” he hisses. “I’m trying to aim.”

“Can I just say, Herb, Herb, I need you to--”

“Shh.”

“Listen, listen, Herb. Okay, just to be clear, you’re shooting me to determine how the gun aiming physics would work for your post-natal-abortion-mystery novel, not because you’re still mad that I didn’t tell you BoJack cheated on you?” 

Herb freezes.

He puts the broom down and takes a step back. “Don’t worry about it,” he insists. “I mean, I prefer to hear it from him. And really, BJ cheating is  _ far  _ from the worst part of all this.”

“Oof,” says Sarah Lynn. “What  _ is  _ the worst part?”

“Uh…” He sits down on the couch, trying to make himself as small as possible, but Todd and Sarah Lynn continue looking at him expectantly. “I think it was the tantrum I threw,” he finally mutters.

Todd tilts his head. “Tantrum?”

“Yeah, I, uh -- after the funeral. I lost my shit.” He gestures to his black eye. “That’s how this happened.” 

Sarah Lynn takes a seat next to him on the couch, frowning. “What happened?”

He hesitates, then sighs. “Well, uh, as you know, yesterday was my mom’s funeral. Which was really, uh, really  _ something,  _ because my mom disowned me for being gay and she hadn’t spoken to me for twenty-five years.” He rubs his arm nervously. “After the funeral, uh -- my dad invited me over, so I could pick up the stuff she left me in her will. So I went over there, and he tried to apologise for disowning me, and I just yelled at him and told him to hurry up and give me the shit.”

“That’s not so bad --” begins Sarah Lynn.

“There’s more.” He gulps. “One of the things she left me was a bible, you know, as some passive-aggressive reminder that I’m going to hell for being gay. I was just so angry, I…” He sighs. “First, I yelled at my dad. Then I set my dead mom’s bible on fire. Then, my dad tried to tell me I was being a dick, so I punched him. And then I kept punching him until he fought back, and, well…” He gestures to his various bruises. 

There’s a long, painful silence.

“Honestly,” says Todd. “That seems like it was a pretty stupid idea.”

“It was,” he agrees. “I mean, my dad’s twice my size. He used to box kangaroos. He basically kicked my ass without even trying to fight me.” 

Sarah Lynn winces. “Oof, that sounds shitty.” Her eyes widen. “I guess you could call it a …  _ Kazzaz-trophe!” _

“Not funny.”

She pouts. “Come on, that was a good joke.”  
  
“Good joke,” he admits. “But it doesn’t  _ work.  _ My last name comes from my biological family, and it was my adoptive dad that I had the fight with.”

“Wait, you’re adopted?” chokes Todd. “I did  _ not  _ know that.”

He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Yeah, I don’t really talk about my family all that much.”

“Yeah, but I’ve known you for, like, eight years.”

“And  _ I’ve  _ known you for, like, thirty-one years,” says Sarah Lynn. “And I’d  _ never  _ heard that before.”

Herb shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I don’t like to talk about it. Once I mention that I’m adopted, people start asking me  _ questions.” _

“What kind of questions?” asks Sarah Lynn. “Like, about your birth parents? And whether they died or just didn’t want you?”

There’s a long, painful silence.

“Yeah, I see now that asking you whether they died or just didn’t want you was  _ probably  _ kinda shitty.”

“Ugh, who  _ cares  _ about my birth family?” asks Herb, throwing up his hands in frustration. “I barely remember them. It’s my adopted parents that are the problem -- they always  _ said  _ they would love me no matter what, and then they threw me aside the second they didn’t like what I was doing. And it was  _ decades  _ ago, and I thought I was over it, but I guess I’m not.”

“So?” asks Todd. “They’re just shitheads. It’s not your fault they can’t accept who you are.”

“Yeah, but … they’re  _ family.” _

Sarah Lynn leans back on the couch. “Who  _ cares  _ about family?”

_ “I  _ do!” He stands up, frustration at a boiling point.  _ “I  _ care about family! I care about family so much that I made a  _ sitcom  _ about it!”

“Yeah, but …  _ why?”  _ She looks at her nails, unphased by his outburst. “Family’s a shitfest. You know that better than anyone! Your parents disowned you, your husband’s an abuse survivor, your roommate is some random guy whose parents kicked him out for liking a video game too much, and you  _ know  _ how my parents were.”

“Yeah, but…” His face falls. He slumps back onto the couch. “God, I don’t know.”

Todd frowns. “Woah, are you okay?”

“...Yeah.” He takes a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just -- I took my mom’s death pretty hard, that’s all.”

“And again, I say,  _ why?”  _ asks Sarah Lynn. “She  _ literally  _ ignored you for decades. She doesn’t  _ deserve  _ your tears.”

“Yeah, I know.” He rubs his arm anxiously. “It’s just -- This is hard for me, because of … reasons.”

“...Reasons?”

“You don’t have to tell us,” says Todd hurriedly.

“Uh,” says Sarah Lynn. “Yeah, you do! You have  _ got  _ to give us that gossip. Come on, dish the deets!”

Herb cringes. “It’s not  _ gossip,  _ it’s my own childhood, and I’d really rather not --”

“Come  _ on!”  _ she protests, jumping to her feet. “Tell us the story.” She gives her best puppy-dog eyes. “Tell you what, if you tell us all that juicy gossip, I’ll call Princess Carolyn and get her to publish your book.”

“I told you, it’s not gossip, and I can call her myself -- oh, alright. But you’re probably not going to like it.” 

Sarah Lynn eagerly sits cross-legged on the floor like a schoolkid. “Todd, can you get snacks for the story?”

“What?” protests Herb. “It’s not a  _ story.  _ It’s literally, like, one sentence.”

“Then tell it slowly!”

Herb opens his mouth to protest, then shuts it. He takes a deep breath, and says, very slowly and condescendingly, like he’s talking to a small child, because honestly he might as well be, “My birth mom got shot in front of me when I was four.”

“Oof,” says Sarah Lynn. “That seems like a whole thing.” She frowns. “Wait, why? Who shot her?”

“I dunno. I was four, I don’t remember the details.”

“That’s a shitty story.”

“Hey, I  _ did  _ warn you.”

Todd frowns. “Wait, so what happened to your dad?”

“Uh, I think he got sick, or something?” He shrugs. “I was maybe two or three at the time, I can barely remember.”

“Oof,” says Sarah Lynn. She takes out her phone. “Come on, let’s get this thing published!”

* * *

They do not get it published.

“This is … this is really something,” says Princess Carolyn over the phone. “Sarah Lynn, Todd, I’m gonna be honest -- this is the  _ worst  _ book you two have ever co-written.”

Herb pouts. “Worse than BJ’s autobiography?”

“It’s a murder mystery, but the amateur detective protagonist is more concerned with how sexy the outlines of the murder victims are than the actual mysteries, and every instance of the word ‘murder’ is replaced with the words ‘post-natal abortion’.”

“That was my pitch,” says Sarah Lynn.

“You physically wrote out all the ellipses as the words ‘dot dot dot’! And oh my God, the epithets…”

“Hey,” says Herb defensively. “What’s wrong with epithets? It would be too confusing if I used pronouns all the time.”

_ “That  _ would be too confusing?!” chokes Princess Carolyn. “In chapter fourteen, everyone’s mad at Stephanie for letting Cupcake get at the alcohol, and you wrote half a page about how ‘the bear’ was yelling at her for it. Then, it turned out that ‘the bear’ was  _ not  _ Cupcake’s stepfather, who is a grizzly bear, but actually the human protagonist.”

“Hey,” protests Herb. “That’s homophobic.”

“What is, pointing out that epithets have to actually refer to the things they’re referring to to make sense?! Also, the main character needs work. He can either be a detective, a writer, an actor, or the ‘world’s strongest president’, but he  _ cannot  _ be all four.”

“Ugh, everyone’s a critic.”

“I just -- I find it hard to believe you wrote this sober. Are you  _ sure  _ none of you were on anything when you wrote this?”

“Uh, the autism spectrum, maybe?” suggests Todd.

Herb rolls his eyes. “You and your firefly-based conspiracy theories.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t publish this.”

He hangs up irritably. “Well, that was a waste of time.”

“Was it really?” asks Sarah Lynn. “I mean, you  _ finally  _ opened up about what was bothering you, and I cheered you up!”

“...No, you didn’t.”

Her face falls. “What?”

“You didn’t  _ cheer me up.  _ You just showed up at my door out of  _ nowhere,  _ and then basically forced me to talk about my trauma.  _ Why  _ would that cheer me up?”

There’s a long, painful silence.

“So,” she mutters. “That tweet --”

“I didn’t mean it in the first place. I  _ told  _ you that.”

“What tweet?” asks Todd. He groans. “Do I need to go and download twitter?”

“No, no, it’s -- it’s nothing.”

“...Oh,” says Sarah Lynn. “Well, uh, I’m sorry I wasn’t much help. Is there anything I can --”

“No.” He sighs. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Sarah Lynn, but I just need some time alone to think right now.” He exits the room, and immediately there’s a loud  _ thud  _ noise and he grunts in pain.

“Uh, you okay?” calls Todd.  
  
“Yeah,” he calls back irritably. “Just tripped over the goddamn roomba  _ again.” _


	21. Xerox of a Xerox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BoJack and Herb talk about BoJack's cheating.

He carelessly tosses a few bloodied tissues into the bin, then wipes his nose on his arm and checks for traces of more blood. There’s a faint trace of red in his fur, but nothing concerning. “I can’t believe I gave myself a nosebleed,” he says, more to himself than anything. 

“I can,” says Diane. 

He sighs. “I’m sorry, about…” He gestures vaguely. “All this.”

“It’s okay.” She pauses, frowning. “Well, I mean, it’s not, but it’s not  _ not  _ okay, so…”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“It’s just -- why the plant?” She tilts her head. “This isn’t Chicago.”

“...Do you think that’s normal in Chicago?” Before she can answer, his phone buzzes with an incoming text. He reads it and his eyes widen. “Oh shit.”

“What?” asks Diane.

“Herb. He wants me to come over so we can talk.” He slams his head against a nearby wall. “Why does he have to say it over text? I have  _ no  _ idea what the mood’s gonna be like. Is he pissed? Betrayed? Suicidal? All of the above?”

Diane shoots him a sympathetic look. “Do you want me to help you re-pack your stuff?”

“No, he said not to bring it yet. Which means he’s probably still pissed.  _ Ugh!”  _ He takes a deep breath. “Well, best to bite the bullet and do it now, I guess. Any advice before I leave?”

She stares at him, frowning. “Shouldn’t you eat before you go?”

“Already ate.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, but…”

“If I eat again, I’ll just throw up again.”

“Have you tried … not doing that?” He gives her a look and she finally relents. “At least stop at a coffee shop on the way.”

“Yeah, good idea.” His eyes widen. “Maybe if I grab him a coffee too, it’ll sort of, I dunno, improve the mood.”

“Yeah, do that. And if you’ve got something to hold, you’re less likely to talk with your hands and end up coming off as aggressive.”

“Okay, thanks.” He takes a deep breath, waves a goodbye in her general direction, and exits the room. 

* * *

He mutters his vague gratitude and then places the coffee on the bench where it’s clear he has no intention of drinking it. BoJack gulps. He fidgets anxiously with the collar of his jacket for a few moments, then opts to take it off entirely, tying the sleeves into a loose knot around his neck. “I know I’ve said it a bunch already, but --”

“You’re sorry?” snarks Herb. “Heard it before. Have a seat.” He’s sitting at the table with an expectant look on his face. BoJack cautiously eyes the chair immediately next to him, then instead sits directly across.

“So, about that tweet --”

Herb pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t worry about it, okay? I didn’t mean it.”

“...Then why did you say it?”

There’s a long, painful silence.

“So, uh,” says Herb. “I was thinking it over, last night, and I realised I don’t actually  _ know  _ what happened. I don’t have context. And, I mean, I guess I could ask Emily, but … I want to hear it come out of  _ your  _ mouth.”

If BoJack gulps, he certainly manages to hide it well. “That’s, that’s actually good. I like not having to lie anymore. Put everything on the table, right?” He forces a nervous chuckle. Herb looks unimpressed.

“So, tell me what happened.”

He sighs. “It was, um, it was that time she had the fight with Todd, remember? The time I had to give her a lift home. She was, uh -- She was all upset, and frustrated with Todd being ace, and -- and it was her that suggested it! And normally I would  _ never  _ have agreed to that, but, well, I mean, I was really a wreck at the time, you know? I was depressed as shit, and we were fighting, and, and I just could  _ not  _ cope, and --”

“Yeah.” He avoids eye contact, tracing the wood of the table with his fingers. “Yeah, I get your motivation and all. It was your rock bottom.”

“...I don’t know about that,” BoJack admits. “I don’t know if I believe in rock bottoms. I’ve had a lot of what I  _ thought  _ were rock bottoms only to discover another, rockier bottom underneath.” Herb gives him a curious look and he continues nervously. “When we had that fight after I OD’d, I decided to stop waiting for something to change me and realised I had to make the change for myself. That’s why I went to rehab.”

Herb frowns. “Is  _ that  _ why you went to rehab? Because you felt guilty about Emily?”

“...It was part of the reason,” he admits. “As you know, I’ve made a lot of mistakes.”

“I know,” says Herb. He narrows his eyes. “Are there any other mistakes I don’t know about?”

“...A couple, from before I met you. Or before we were close -- the 80s, you know? And I don’t think I should tell you about them. I don’t think that would be fair to the people involved, all of whom I apologised to in private.”

Herb sighs. “Do you think you’ll stop making these mistakes?”

BoJack very nearly flinches.  _ Woah, did not expect that.  _ “Yeah,” he says finally. “I think I will. It’s been a lot of work, but when I look back at the old BoJack, I ask, ‘Who is that?’.”

“Well, who  _ is  _ that?” asks Herb. “Who’s the ‘old BoJack’ and how is he different to  _ you?”  
_ _  
_ BoJack shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his hands gripping his untouched coffee carefully. “You know. I came from a broken home. I, I used to feel like my whole life was an acting job doing an impression of the people I saw on television, which was just a projection of equally screwed up actors and writers -- no offense. I felt like a … Xerox of a Xerox of a person.”

Herb tilts his head and states at him, “But not anymore?”

He nods. “Now I just feel like … myself.”

Herb considers this for a long time, but when he finally speaks again, his voice has lost its tenseness, poorly concealed unimpressed anger. “So basically, Emily had a fight with her boyfriend and asked you to have sex with her so she would feel better, which you only agreed to because you were at your lowest point, and that just made everything worse because you felt horribly guilty and you couldn’t talk to anyone about it.”

“...Yeah,” says BoJack, starting to frown.

“It’s kind of starting to seem like Emily was just taking advantage of you.” His frown deepens and he leans forward. “I mean, she talked you into having sex when you were vulnerable, and  _ you  _ were the one that ended up getting hurt because of it.”

“Yeah,  _ that’s  _ what happened!” He begins to gesture but quickly returns his hands to his coffee. “She took advantage of me. I would  _ never  _ have agreed to that normally, but she took advantage of me when I was at my lowest point.”

“And…” He shifts in his seat, nervous, cautious. “How does that make you  _ feel?” _

“It…” He thinks for a moment. “It makes me feel sad. And angry! You know, I think I dodged a bullet, I think it could have been worse. Do you remember those creepy invasive UNO cards she made? And I don’t like the way she used to talk to Todd when he didn’t want sex. Maybe she’s a predator!”

“...Maybe,” says Herb hesitantly. “If Emily were here now, what would you say to her?”

“I would tell her…” He hesitates, then places a sincere hand over his chest. “...how  _ sorry  _ I am.”

* * *

He goes back to Diane’s apartment and brags, brags about how it went  _ so  _ well. “He says he needs more time to think it over, but I think he’s basically forgiven me by now,” he continues. 

“You think?” says Diane wearily, trying her best not to sound like she’s kind of sick of hearing him brag about how he might get off scot-free for cheating on his husband.

“Mm-hmm,” he insists. “At the end, there, when he asked about Emily, I was about to keep talking about how she took advantage of me, but then I could just  _ tell  _ he was waiting to see if I would throw her under the bus to save my own ass, so I surprised him by saying I would apologise for ruining her relationship with Todd.”

Diane frowns. “Wait, so did you decide not to throw Emily under the bus because you actually care about her, or was it just to impress Herb?”

He waves a hand dismissively. “Have you  _ met  _ Emily? She’s super mean. And she was bitchy to Todd just for not having sex with her! She  _ did  _ take advantage of me -- she shouldn’t have asked me for sex when I was vulnerable.” He grins smugly. “My therapist is gonna be  _ so  _ proud of me for handling this well.”

“Yeah,” says Diane. “I bet she is.” She doesn’t then proceed to say that BoJack’s therapist either has horrifically low standards or is deliberately pretending to be impressed by any sign of progress, but she certainly thinks it very loudly.

“In fact, I should call him  _ right now  _ and ask him if he wants to have another talk.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You sure that’s a good idea? He did say he needs space. Maybe sleep on it.”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine, I’ll wait ‘till tomorrow to call him. But you know what I’m gonna do now?”

She sighs. “What?”

“I’m gonna go eat food.” His eyes are wide with an almost childlike sense of pride. “And then, I’m gonna digest it.”

“Yeah, do that.”

He finally catches onto her exasperation. “Oh shit, am I doing that thing I do where I get  _ super  _ proud of myself for a really tiny accomplishment, and then I end up never really improving because my standards are so low?”

“Kinda,” she admits.

“Oh.” He switches to a more casual voice. “Well, I’m gonna go grab myself some food. See you in a bit.” 

He exits the room. Once she’s sure he’s out of earshot, she says to herself, “Yeah, you’re still doing it.”

* * *

The next day, he tries to keep everything as close to the previous discussion as possible. He grabs two coffees on the way there, one that he holds onto so he won’t talk with his hand and one that Herb takes a large gulp of and then leaves, forgotten, on the bench; he even ties his jacket loosely around his neck again, even though it’s actually kind of chilly this time and he’d probably be more comfortable wearing it properly. He sits across from Herb, just like he did before, and takes a sip from his drink.

“Emily’s twenty-three,” says Herb.

BoJack gives him a blank stare. “...And?”

“I don’t know, I’ve just, I’ve been thinking -- she’s not even half your age, BJ.” He’s frowning deeply, tracing the wood of the table. “And I mean, it’s not exactly like she had power over you, or anything. I mean, I guess she was kind of a jerk to Todd when he didn’t want to have sex with her…”

“Yeah,” says BoJack, latching onto the mention of any morally dubious act by Emily. “Yeah, she was kind of using him as an example, you know? Like, ‘Look at how mean I am to Todd, that’s what’ll happen to you if you said no to me’.”

Genuine concern washes over Herb’s face. “So she made you feel like you couldn’t say no?”

BoJack nearly spills coffee onto the table when he suddenly tightens his grip on the cup. And for a second he almost says  _ yes,  _ she  _ did  _ make him feel like he had to do it, it’s not his fault, but he quickly realises that that’s a  _ very  _ serious thing to be accusing her of just to get out of admitting he cheated on his husband. So, he admits meekly, “No, not really. I mean, I still think she was taking advantage of me, but -- I could have said no.”

“Then why  _ didn’t  _ you?”

There’s a long, painful silence.

“I want to know  _ exactly  _ what happened,” says Herb finally. “Like, you said it was her that suggested it. Is that true?”

BoJack shifts in his seat, trying to make himself as small as possible. “...Technically.”

* * *

There wasn’t much else to say. He said more anyway. “Well, why  _ can’t  _ you accept that? I mean, you can date him without banging, can’t you?”

“I don’t  _ want  _ to,” Emily protested. “I mean, I can go a couple weeks, maybe even months, but -- long-term? I don’t want to just never have sex again.”

“Well, that sucks.” The car came to a screeching halt outside her house. “Wish I knew how to help you, but as you know, I’m having my own relationship issues.”

“Yeah.” She grimaced. “I’m really sorry about you and Herb.”

“Eh, not your fault.” He sighed. “Still, though, it’s just -- it makes you wish life was like a sitcom, you know? Like, it would be so great if all of this could be fixed in twenty-two  _ hilarious  _ minutes.”

Emily chuckled. “I mean, you just spent twenty minutes driving me, so if you think you can fix this in twenty-two hilarious minutes, you’d better think fast.” She laughed. “I mean, what could you  _ possibly  _ do in two minutes?”

“You can do  _ loads  _ in two minutes,” protested BoJack. “Like, you can type up a long email telling someone how annoying they are, or you can turn your phone off and on to see if it’s working properly or not, or you can have sex, or --”

“Wait.” She paused, frowning. “Can we actually  _ do  _ that?”

“Which one?”

“The last one.”

“I mean, I guess you can turn your phone off and on if you want --”

“No, the  _ other  _ last one.” She leaned forward, giving him a knowing look, and her face was almost touching him, and he wasn’t sure if the unexpected proximity with a near-stranger was what was making his breathing pick up or it was something else, and really, she was kind of attractive now that he thought about it, and he should probably be shutting this train of thought down.

“Yeah, you can have sex in two minutes,” he explained, edging away from her. “I mean, it’s kind of a rush, but you can do it. I dunno who you’d have sex with, since Todd… oh.”

There was a long, ominous silence.

“No way,” he insisted. “I mean, we both have partners. Todd would be devastated! You’ve gotta talk this out with him.”

“Talk  _ what  _ out with him?” she protested. “There’s no discussion needed. I want sex, he doesn’t. And I can talk to him all I want, but that’s not going to change. Besides,” she added. “It’s not like you’re really trying to talk things out with Herb.”

“I’ve  _ tried,  _ I just…” He stopped mid-sentence.

“What do you say?” asked Emily. “Straight in and straight out. It’ll barely be two minutes.”

* * *

BoJack hangs his head in shame.

“But it  _ wasn’t  _ two minutes,” says Herb.

BoJack freezes. “What?”

“Don’t you remember? You were gone for nearly an hour. I asked where you’d been, and you said you stayed at her house for a few minutes to calm her down. And then I said, ‘What, you stayed with her for seventeen minutes?’ and you said yes, and then changed the subject by accusing me of being bad at math.”

“...That  _ does  _ sound like me,” he admits. “But I was drunk. I don’t remember that conversation.”

“...But you remember the seventeen minutes?”

There’s a long, ominous silence.

“We just talked,” he begins, spilling coffee onto the table as he starts gesturing with the cup in his hand. “I mean, I also cheated on you. But that part was only two minutes, if that! After that we just talked.”

“I don’t doubt that,” says Herb. “It’s just -- what did you talk  _ about?” _

* * *

He put his sweater back on self-consciously. “That was … something.”

“Honestly, it wasn’t that great,” admitted Emily.

“Yeah, it’s been a few decades since I’ve touched a pussy.”

Emily remained silent.

He frowned. “Hey, you okay?”

“No.” She folded her arms over her body. “I feel  _ guilty.  _ I just cheated on my boyfriend!”

“Yeah, but, I mean -- you said it yourself. You two aren’t compatible. It’s only a matter of time before you…”

“And I might have ruined  _ your  _ marriage, too!” She shifted uncomfortably on the bed, edging away from BoJack. “Why did I have to drag Herb into this? Now he’s getting hurt too.”

“Hey, hey, this -- this doesn’t have to hurt Herb! We just won’t tell him. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”

“...Isn’t he allergic to peanuts, though?” she asked. “That’s something that can  _ definitely  _ hurt him if he doesn’t know about it.”

“That’s different.” He frowned. “Wait, how do you know that?”

“I Googled it. There was a joke in  _ The BoJack Horseman Show  _ about having an anaphylactic husband, and I got curious, so I looked it up.” 

“And it was just  _ there?  _ Eh, I guess he is semi-famous.” His frown deepened. “That’s actually kind of worrying. Like, what if there was some homophobic incel on Twitter that got pissed at Herb for existing too gay-ly? They could just look shit up about him and throw peanuts at him until he dies.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s not actually gonna happen.” She chuckled. “It’s basically the only thing you can find on him, honestly.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I’ve read his Wikipedia article, and all it says is, like -- all the stuff he wrote, he’s married to you, and that he’s allergic to peanuts.”

“Wait, that’s all it says? I thought it had more.”

“Well, sometimes it also says that he’s three feet tall and gets annoyed if his book isn’t in the  _ exact  _ right spot on his nightstand. It’s pretty inconsistent. I kinda get the sense that there’s an edit war going on.”

“Hey, in my defense, the part about the book is true.”

Emily laughed. Then she flopped back onto the bed. “Why did he make it?”

“What,  _ Horsin’ Around?” _

“No, the piece of paper he used as a bookmark in the tenth grade.” She smacked her own forehead. “Yes,  _ Horsin’ Around.” _

He rubbed his arm nervously. “That’s, uh -- that’s not really my place to tell you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m probably never gonna be able to face you  _ or  _ him after this, so…”

* * *

“No.  _ No.”  _ He rises from his seat, pointing a finger accusingly at BoJack. “You did  _ not  _ tell her about my family.”

“Okay,” says BoJack defensively. “I know it was shitty, but before you say anything…”

There’s a long, painful silence.

“That’s it,” admits BoJack. “I just don’t want you to say anything.”

Herb sits back down, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “How much did you tell her?”

“...Everything.” He’s quickly back on the defensive. “But, but I was drunk, and I was struggling so much, mentally, I mean, and, you know, I -- I did nothing wrong! It wasn’t my fault.”

Herb narrows his eyes. “So did you do nothing wrong, or is the wrong thing you did somehow not your fault?”

“I, well, I mean, what I meant was -- ugh!” He spills coffee all over the floor and table as he frantically gestures to defend himself. “One of the first things I had to do in rehab was accept my own powerlessness. I know what I did was wrong, I’m not denying that. But you’re trying to paint a picture of me as a bad guy, and that’s not me. And, hey, you’re not exactly innocent in this either -- you’re the one who spent  _ months  _ not believing me about Hollyhock!”

Herb looks genuinely hurt. “I said I was sorry about that.”

“Yeah, but --”

“No. You don’t  _ get  _ to do that.” He glares. “If you still resent me for that, then honestly, that’s fair. I might still resent you about  _ this  _ for a while. But you can’t  _ say  _ you forgive me, and continue like everything’s normal, and then turn around and throw it back in my face during an argument.”

There’s a long, painful silence.

“So, to recap,” says Herb. “You had sex with a woman less than half your age, ruining her first serious relationship, because you were having a fight with me. Then you told her some  _ incredibly  _ personal details about my own life. Then, in an attempt to cover up your own guilt, you started some unhealthy coping methods that nearly killed you, and left Emily to deal with the guilt of almost killing you herself. And you think  _ she  _ took advantage of you.”

BoJack frowns. “Hey, if it was shitty for  _ me  _ to develop an eating disorder at the same time as a bunch of people being mad at me, then you should  _ really  _ stop trying to pretend you didn’t tweet about wanting to kill yourself  _ immediately  _ after we had a fight.”

“That fight was your fault! And it was a shitty day! Besides, I deleted the tweet.”

“Have you met a gen Z kid? The Internet is forever. There’s probably already screenshots out there!”

“It doesn’t matter. I didn’t mean it! I don’t know  _ why  _ I posted it.”

“Yeah,” snaps BoJack. “You do.”

Herb sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Quit changing the subject. Look, BJ, I -- I love you. Always have, probably always will, not sure why at this point. But ever since that fight at the hospital, I’ve thought of you a little differently. You’re not some helpless abuse survivor that hurts people because you don’t know any healthy coping methods, you  _ choose  _ to make your mental health everyone else’s problem rather than seek help.”

“But I  _ did  _ seek help,” says BoJack. “That was the old me.”

“Funny that you would say that, because over the last few days, you’ve drawn an outline of a person. A person who doesn’t think about others, a person who puts his own needs first. And over and over, I get hurt, not necessarily because he means to hurt me, but just because letting me get hurt is easier for him than seriously confronting his issues. This person I’m describing -- is it a different person? Or is it you?”

BoJack takes a deep breath. “...Yeah. It’s me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> was gonna make more progress in this chapter, including the definitive reveal of whether or not BJ and herb stay together, but it was getting long so I guess you'll just have to wait ;)
> 
> (also fun fact: one of my favourite details of the "Xerox of a Xerox" episode in canon was that Judah gives bojack the mug so he wont talk with his hands and seem defensive, and in the second interview when he gets defensive he still talks with his hands. which also happens in this chapter if you noticed)


	22. The Last Straw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things begin to go back to normal, kind of. BoJack thinks back on his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case chapter 4 didn't make it obvious enough can you guys tell that my favourite trope is "chapter/episode literally takes place over the course of a few minutes, but it seems like longer because most of the storytelling is from flashbacks that come from the character thinking about their own past, to the point where the reader almost forgets about the comparatively unimportant/predictable conflict taking place in the present until the ending, which is an underwhelming punchline to that storyline"

He was  _ sure  _ this would be the last straw. 

Things had been going downhill for a while now, if he’s being honest. Near-constant night shoots aren’t exactly the best thing for a relationship, getting home at some ungodly hour of morning and struggling to stay awake long enough for a quick good morning kiss before he passes out. 

And, it probably doesn’t help that he and Princess Carolyn always had that odd sort of  _ tension,  _ the type that could be romantic or could be sexual or could just be that they kind of hate each other. It was more prominent in the 90s, while he was closeted and he would flirt with her as a decoy if the execs noticed him getting a  _ little  _ too friendly with Herb. Even took her on a date once, which he mysteriously had to leave early because of some vague “family emergency”. At the time Princess Carolyn didn’t know him well enough to know that if he had some vague “family emergency” he would just leave his family to deal with it.

Herb  _ hated  _ it. And BoJack was sure that if anything like, well, like  _ this  _ ever happened, it would  _ have  _ to be the last straw that broke the camel’s back. But it  _ is  _ happening, right now, and it’s just -- it’s  _ nothing.  _ It’s not that big a deal. It’s not the last straw.

And oh  _ God,  _ that is painful.

* * *

“Here we are,” said Todd, completely unnecessarily. “Playing  _ Mario Kart,  _ in 2012.”

“Specifically  _ Mario Kart 7,”  _ said Herb, adding absolutely nothing of value to the conversation.

BoJack stared at them. “Why are you stating things that we all already know?” His eyes widened and he doubled down on the drifting, his nose almost touching the handheld in his efforts to go as fast as he could. “Herb, I swear to God, if you use that red shell I will  _ kill  _ you.”

“In the game or in real life?”

“Haven’t decided yet.” He broke through an item box and gave an audible sigh of relief when he found he was able to use his new power-up to block the incoming red shell. “Okay, go ahead. I’ve got it covered.”

“No fair!” protested Herb. “How am I supposed to win if you keep blocking my red shells?”

“You think  _ you’ve  _ got problems?” asked Todd. “I’m still in sixth place.”

“Well maybe if you were just better at -- huh?” He frowned. “BJ, why’d you stop moving?”

BoJack smirked, beginning to accelerate again now that he was securely in second place. “Some guy had a blue shell.”

“Oh my God you absolute son of a --” 

He was cut off by his own groan of frustration as his kart was hit by a blue shell, and then proceeded to fall off the track. He took a deep breath, then stood up, abandoning his console on the couch. “I’m not  _ rage quitting,”  _ he insisted angrily. “I’m just getting up to grab a glass of water, and I will not be back for several minutes.”

He stormed off.

“Well  _ someone  _ doesn’t like blue shells,” snarked BoJack.

Todd frowned. “Hey, BoJack?”

“Yeah?”

“How did you know you were bi?”

“Well, for me, the big giveaway was when I was attracted to both men and women.” He aimed a green shell backward in Todd’s general direction.

Todd groaned. “Yeah, but how did you know  _ that?” _

“Well, uh, actually…” He frowned, attempting to think while also pulling off a great drift boost into the launcher pad. “I think it was Herb, you know? Once I realised I liked him, I couldn’t just  _ not  _ do something about that. I mean, like, when I liked other guys I could mostly just pretend I just  _ really  _ wanted to be his friend, because, you know, they were straight, nothing was gonna happen. Herb wasn’t like that.”

“Hmm,” said Todd, falling back into seventh place and not seeming to care. “How’d you know you liked Herb?”

“I, uh -- It was when he got outed. You know, and he asked me to threaten to walk so the network wouldn’t fire him? And at the time I was all like, sure, I’ll do it, but I didn’t  _ mean  _ it, I just wanted him to shut up because him talking about how he needed my help made me feel all guilty. But then the exec told me that if I valued my own career I’d better just let him take the fall, and I realised -- I wasn’t okay with that. Like, at all. So I held my ground, and it turned out she was bluffing, and then a few weeks later I asked him out.”

“That story would be romantic if it wasn’t so ethically questionable,” said Todd. “Uh, just so you know, I’ve got a blue shell, if you want to --”

“Why are you helping me? But yeah, sure.” He pressed the B button, then frowned. “Hey, Todd, look at my screen.”

“But I’m trying to drive.”

“From what, seventh place to fifth? You’re already doomed.” However reluctantly, Todd looked over at the screen. “I just realised -- see these water streams? They actually push you forward, but it’s so subtle you don’t even notice it until you try to go backward.”

Todd raised an eyebrow. “...And?”

“That’s what love is. Or at least, that’s what  _ Herb  _ is.” He started moving forward again. “He’s always supported me, but sometimes I don’t even realise it until I try to self-sabotage like an idiot and I realise he won’t let me.”

“...Why would you try to self-sabotage in the first place?”

“Great question. Use that shell now.”

* * *

He was  _ sure  _ that if anything like this ever happened, it would be the last straw. It would  _ have  _ to be the last straw. What else could it be? Just some  _ thing  _ that happens, of no lasting consequence whatsoever?

Apparently, yes.

It’s happening.  _ This is happening.  _ And it’s happening  _ now,  _ and it  _ hurts,  _ and there’s a hand gripping his and a few comforting fingers running through his fur but it still  _ hurts.  _ He’s close to crying, even when there’s so many people staring at him, eyes on him, ready to punish him if he dares show his pain, but he almost breaks down sobbing regardless. It takes every last inch of his willpower to not just scream.

He can’t breathe. And yet somehow he’s still aware enough to notice Gina scowling at him for not getting his shit together yet. She doesn’t  _ get  _ it. She doesn’t get that he  _ can’t breathe,  _ that all he knows right now is  _ pain,  _ and honestly he doesn’t have the ability to  _ care  _ whether his inability to do  _ anything  _ beyond lie around feeling sorry for himself causes some problems with the already-screwed shooting schedule.

He tries to breathe. He can’t.

He forces his eyes open, even though he knows it’ll just hurt more, and looks up at Herb. He forces himself to look that man dead in the eye, and tells himself that  _ you have ruined everything,  _ tells himself that  _ nothing will ever be the same again.  _ And oh  _ God,  _ he’s close to tears from the pain, it  _ hurts. _

No, seriously, it physically  _ hurts.  _ Can someone hurry up and get him a goddamned painkiller? Or maybe an ambulance?

* * *

BoJack broke his wrist while filming  _ Horsin’ Around  _ once.

It was kind of ironic, when he thinks about it.  _ Horsin’ Around,  _ a family-friendly sitcom, had its fair share of injuries inflicted upon everyone -- the kids got all sorts of bruises and sprains being kids, and even the writer broke his leg once falling off a bookshelf. And yet somehow he and Gina managed to use their time between shoots to figure out how they could communicate while he was meant to be strangling her, and they’re confident they can get that scene as realistic as possible short of actually killing her. How can  _ Philbert  _ be safer than  _ Horsin’ Around? _

Well, he guesses it’s not anymore.

Anyway, it was honestly the  _ stupidest  _ thing, which makes sense, now that he thinks about, because basically all of the injuries on  _ Horsin’ Around  _ were caused by pure stupidity on the part of the actors, and Herb that one time, rather than the safety technicians not doing their job well enough.

It was a simple scene -- Sabrina had just run upstairs in a huff because Ethan was teasing her about brushing her teeth in the fridge, and now the horse was meant to run after her. Except BoJack had  _ maybe  _ had a little too much to drink before they started shooting, and he tripped and fell downstairs.

And honestly, it wasn’t even that bad. He couldn’t even feel it at first -- actually, his whole hand was sort of numb for half an hour after he fell, which in retrospect he probably should have seen as a bad sign, but, well, he hadn’t  _ quite  _ gotten over his childhood that taught him that the safest thing to do was always minimize his pain to avoid inconveniencing the adults, and it was the final season and the shooting schedule was already tight and he could  _ probably  _ just ignore it, because, well, even if it  _ was  _ serious he could wait for the filming to end, right?

Nobody had any reason to suspect a serious problem until Herb was so excited explaining his plan for the  _ amazing  _ season finale that he grabbed his arm without realising it and okay,  _ maybe  _ he yelped a little, but honestly, it didn’t  _ really  _ hurt until he did that, and it was  _ totally  _ overprotective of Herb to pause filming for the day so he could get it X-rayed. 

He still thought Herb was being annoying even when it actually  _ was  _ broken. BoJack insisted that it wasn’t a big deal, and really, it was only a few more weeks until they finished filming and  _ maybe  _ it would heal on its own. 

The thing is, it was  _ entirely  _ BoJack’s fault. No way around it. Even Princess Carolyn couldn’t spin it to make it seem like a safety issue -- the set was perfectly safe, until he came to work drunk and tripped. There was no  _ possible  _ way the safety technicians were to blame.

Herb got three safety technicians fired for that injury anyway. It would have been ethically questionable if it wasn’t so romantic.

* * *

He was  _ sure  _ that if anything like this ever happened, it would be the last straw that broke the camel’s back. And, well, it is, in a way. If by “camel” you mean “horse”, specifically him, and by “straw” you mean “fall off a building”.

And Herb, to his credit,  _ is  _ doing just about everything he could reasonably be expected to do. He got there almost immediately after Todd called him, and the excuse he gave was that he  _ happened to be nearby  _ but everyone suspected he had just broken several traffic laws, and he’s  _ here,  _ gripping his hand and trying to get him to  _ stay still,  _ which is some advice he should probably follow a little more closely because every time he tries to move he can  _ feel  _ that he’s making it  _ so much worse,  _ but he just  _ needs  _ to  _ get away,  _ get away from  _ all of this. _

“BJ,  _ calm down,”  _ Herb hisses, tightening his grip on his hand. “It’s okay, I’m here, you’ve gotta breathe.” But he  _ can’t. _

It would be easy to forget, honestly. The excruciating pain tearing through his back is a  _ hell  _ of a distraction, and Herb is definitely playing his part well enough, murmuring soothing and yet meaningless words into his ears and running a hand through his mane and  _ trying  _ to get him to stay still and calm down and  _ breathe,  _ but he  _ can’t,  _ because he  _ knows  _ Herb is doing this on purpose, he’s  _ letting  _ him pretend everything’s fine.

At regular intervals, Herb moves from his spot kneeling next to BoJack and stands up, still close to him, and asks the nearest passerby if they know when the  _ hell  _ that ambulance is gonna get here. And sometimes when they reply that they have no idea, he groans as he kneels back down and mutters something about how they  _ need  _ to get their shit together.

But at no point does he swear on his life that he’s going to have Princess Carolyn’s ass for this and every safety technician involved will lose their jobs.

In a way, that almost hurts more than his back. 

* * *

He spent a week on Diane’s couch.

He could have probably found somewhere a little more comfortable at any time -- a hotel, perhaps, or Mr. Peanutbutter or Sarah Lynn would have let him sleep in their guest rooms -- but somehow he felt that he  _ needed  _ Diane right now. And she was yet to kick him out, so he stayed until he heard from Herb again and got out of divorce limbo.

When Herb finally called, it took every inch of his willpower to even answer the phone; part of him, actually most of him, was scared of hearing the worst, and, well, he couldn’t hear that if he ignored it, could he? 

But, he took a deep breath and forced himself to answer, and before he could say anything, Herb cut him off. “Come home. And, uh, bring your stuff.” While BoJack was still gaping in shock and struggling to process this, he added, “Be warned, Todd got a roomba and it’s really easy to trip on it.”

“You…” BoJack stuttered out. “You want me home?”

“Yeah,” he answered flatly.

“So, you mean, you --”

“I’m not forgiving you,” he practically snarled. “I’m just not  _ not  _ forgiving you.”

BoJack frowned, tilting his head to one side. “...Huh?”

“I’m still pissed about the -- the whole thing with Emily,” he explained. “But I still love you, and I don’t want to let this  _ one  _ thing destroy us. And I thought it was kind of getting cruel to make you stay on Diane’s goddamn couch until I’ve finished processing this, because that might take a while.”

“...Oh.” His head was still tilted to one side, not quite having been able to process what Herb was saying. “So, no divorce?”

Herb sighed irritably. “No divorce.”

BoJack damn near  _ squealed  _ at that, and Diane ducked her head into the room to see what was going on. The way he started to bounce up and down on the spot told her all she needed to know. BoJack Horseman was  _ happy --  _ not lightly sardonic, not glibly nihilistic, but actually  _ happy.  _ And as much as therapy was helping him to not be actively  _ unhappy  _ so much of the time, BoJack Horseman being truly  _ happy  _ was still a rare occurrence. 

It was also almost always a predictor that he was about to crash,  _ hard. _

“Thank you,” he rushed to say. “Oh my God, Herb,  _ thank you.  _ I promise, I will  _ not  _ let you down like that again. Thank you  _ so  _ much. I love you.”

“Love you too, babe.” He failed to share BoJack’s happiness. “But, BJ?”

BoJack’s heart skipped a beat. “Yeah?”

“I -- I  _ want  _ to forgive you. And I mean, I’m sure I will. I’m still angry at you right now but I won’t always feel that way. But…”

BoJack’s face fell. “What?”

“...I don’t know if I’m  _ ever  _ going to be able to  _ trust  _ you again. Like I used to. I don’t know if that’s possible anymore.”

“...Oh.” He gulped.

“I still love you. A lot. But…” He took a deep breath. “Things might not ever be the same again after this. I think it’s important that you know that.” 

* * *

“BJ, you’ve gotta breathe.”

“I  _ am  _ breathing,” hisses BoJack. “If I wasn’t breathing I would  _ die.” _

“You know what I mean.”

“Ugh, does anyone have a goddamn ibuprofen?! If you could get a painkiller from Sharona when you fell off a bookshelf then someone has  _ got  _ to have one for me when I fall off a building.”

“They’ll probably have something for you once you get to hospital.” 

“Thanks, that doesn’t help.” He tightens his grip on Herb’s hand, and Herb returns the gesture. He wonders briefly if his back is just  _ screwed,  _ if he managed to permanently damage it and now he’ll have to use a wheelchair or some bullshit. Ugh, he hopes not, that sounds like a whole thing. 

And honestly, it would be  _ so  _ shitty if he managed to permanently screw up his back because of a stunt gone wrong. It wasn’t even really his fault -- no, it  _ was  _ his fault, no point in denying that, but it was also under some  _ incredible  _ circumstances, and he wouldn’t  _ ever  _ make the same mistake again. It was just a mistake. Just some stupid thing he did, and now things might be permanently damaged.

He wonders if  _ that’s  _ a metaphor for anything.

* * *

“And you should probably grab an umbrella on your way to the set tomorrow, we’re in for some weather.”

“...Some weather?” repeated BoJack. Then he turned to Herb with a grin. “Hey, Herb, Sarah Lynn just said we’re in for  _ some weather.” _

Herb didn’t even look up from the book he was reading. “Yeah, I heard.”  
  
“Why did she  _ say  _ that?” BoJack continued. “It’s so stupid.”

Herb continued reading.  
  
“I mean, there’s never  _ not  _ weather.”

He remained silent. Sarah Lynn tugged on his sleeve, causing him to turn. “Uh, I think maybe you should just give him some space.

“I’m sick of giving him space,” hissed BoJack. “I’ve been giving him space for weeks, and it’s just -- things  _ still  _ aren’t the same.”

“Because I’m  _ trying to read,”  _ snapped Herb. “It’s not a sign of my underlying resentment every time I don’t catch onto the joke you’re making.”

BoJack opened his mouth for a rebuttal, then turned back to Sarah Lynn, opting to change the subject. “And the worst part is, she found it out on  _ Tumblr.  _ Who uses Tumblr anyway?!”

“I use Tumblr,” said Sarah Lynn.

He tilted his head. “Huh, what’s that like?”

“Uh… Okay, so, imagine that you find this really cool coffee shop, and you start going there every day for breakfast. And then a few years later you still go there every day for breakfast, even though it’s now a mattress store.” BoJack frowned. “Tumblr’s basically like that, except the coffee shop is reblogging a personal post from a person you don’t know and adding a long condescending paragraph with an unnecessary  _ Supernatural  _ gif, and the mattress store is yelling at asexual teenagers for stealing the colour purple from lesbians.”

“...And you use  _ that  _ site?”

“What can I say? It’s addictive.” Anxious fingers ran through a lock of brown hair. “You know, uh, I’ve been thinking lately, and…” 

“Oh, you’ve been thinking?” asked BoJack. “Like, with coherent thoughts and everything?”

“Yeah, I’ve been having a  _ bunch  _ more of those since you dragged me to rehab.” 

Todd walked past them, cringing with disgust and coming close to tripping in the process. “Can’t relate.”

“So anyway,” continued Sarah Lynn. “I’ve actually been thinking about a  _ specific  _ thing, and…”

“Oh yeah, a  _ specific  _ thing? You’re really braining hard out here.” It was hard to tell whether he was being sarcastic.

Herb turned a page of his book. “BJ, let Sarah Lynn finish a sentence.”

“I’ve been thinking, and…” There’s a long pause. “I think I might be, like, trans or something?”

BoJack just raised an eyebrow. “Okay, but you still have a woman’s body.”

“Yeah, we should probably move it somewhere.” They nudged the corpse with their foot. “I think Herb’s getting kinda pissed.”

“I am and you should,” snapped Herb. “I’m glad you got to make the joke, Sarah Lynn, but can you  _ please  _ remove my mother-in-law’s corpse from the living room? I’m getting kinda nauseous here.”

Sarah Lynn looked down at Beatrice’s corpse, and finally allowed themself to burst into laughter.  _ “God,  _ you guys have no  _ idea  _ how long I’ve been looking for a chance to make that joke.”

“I’m just impressed you kept a straight face this whole time,” remarked BoJack. Then they burst into laughter again at the word “straight”. 

“Honestly,” they say, once they’ve stopped laughing. “I was  _ so  _ close to just laughing halfway through. I guess you could say I was almost …  _ corpsing.” _

Herb threw up his hands in frustration. “Corpse out of the living room,  _ now.” _

* * *

Herb, God bless him,  _ tries  _ to make it seem like everything’s fine,  _ back to normal,  _ and he does a damn good job, too. He doesn’t leave his side until the paramedics come, and when the ambulance finally arrives he makes sure to tell BoJack that he’ll be back with him as  _ soon  _ as he’s allowed.

The thing is, BoJack can  _ tell  _ that things aren’t back to normal. He can  _ tell  _ that Herb isn’t as  _ furious  _ with every single person that didn’t prevent him from getting injured as he would have been before all of this happened. He can  _ tell  _ that while Herb isn’t angry at him anymore, he’s not  _ not  _ angry at him, either. And he can tell things aren’t going  _ back to normal  _ any time soon.

It gets pretty hard for him to think too hard about this very quickly, though. Herb was right -- they almost immediately put him on laughing gas. It  _ does  _ help with the pain, and God knows he’s grateful for that, but it also makes everything all  _ fuzzy  _ and  _ giddy  _ and  _ disproportionately funny.  _

Seriously, is it just him or is that one episode of  _ Horsin’ Around  _ goddamn _ hilarious?  _ The one where Sabrina brushes her teeth in the fridge? He broke his wrist on that scene where he runs after her but it was worth it, right? It’s funny, right? Why aren’t any of the hospital staff agreeing that it was funny?

Herb keeps his promise, and is at his bedside as soon as it’s possible for him to be. Laughing gas is weird because it finally allows him to think beyond the  _ pain,  _ and in that sense it makes things clear, but it also makes things oh  _ so  _ foggy, and when he notices the slight discolouring of Herb’s fingers he’s not sure what to make of it. “Oh shit, did I do that?”

Herb frowns. “Do what?”

“Your, you’re bruised.” He attempts to frown with varying degrees of success. “Did I squeeze your hand too hard?”

“What? No. Is that even possible?” He shakes his head. “I fell and landed on it while you were at work the other day, that’s all.”

“...Why’d you fall?”

There’s a long, painful silence.

“I tripped over the roomba.”

“... _ Again?!” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gotta say the bait-and-switch aspect was really fun to pull off here. (also for anyone who cares: the joke about the episode where sabrina brushes her teeth in the fridge is based on an inside joke with me and my brother. I was brushing my teeth before bed and while I was doing that I decided to save some time by grabbing a water bottle from the fridge at the same time, but my brother walked in at a bad time and asked me why I was brushing my teeth in the fridge and I was laughing too hard to explain myself.)
> 
> EDIT 21/5/20: I was going to make a joke along the lines of "is this fic mr peanutbutter's relationship with pickles? because its on a brief hiat at the mo" but then I realised that that line is immediately followed by them breaking up forever and that would probably be bad luck especially when im almost infamously bad at finishing fics. but yeah this fic is on hiatus at the moment because I wanna write some other stuff and ive got some super important school stuff that needs sorted out at the moment


	23. Ancient History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hollyhock dumps BoJack's pain medication, leading them on a desperate hunt for more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my last two brain cells rubbing together to make this chapter: what if … herb tripping over the Roomba … was a plot point?

He rolls his eyes. “I wanted to hold the first sign.”

“...How old are you, again?”

BoJack scoffs. “You know how old I am.”

“Too old for this bullshit, then.” He attempts to playfully nudge him in the ribs, but because he’s holding an inconveniently large sign, he very nearly loses his balance in the process. “It’s literally just a sign, get a grip.”

“Ugh.”

“Quit complaining, there she is!” He steps on BoJack’s foot, then smiles, waiting for her to catch sight of them. “Hey, Hollyhock.”

She finally sees them and grips the strap of her bag as she struggles to part through the crowds. “I love the signs.”

“You’d better,” says BoJack. “We basically had to go through a whole pen on them.” He takes Herb’s sign and carelessly tosses it into a nearby trash can with his own, while Herb takes Hollyhock’s bag and starts to lead them to the car.

“Great to see you again,” says Hollyhock. “Is Todd still living with you?”

“Yeah,” explains Herb. “but he’s on a date with an asexual axolotl tonight, so you won’t get to see him until the next time you come.”

She pouts. “Aww.”

“It’s so cool that you managed to visit,” says BoJack. 

“Yeah,” snarks Hollyhock. “We got lucky. The only flight from Connecticut to Kansas had a one-night layover in California.”

Herb misses the sarcasm. “Really?” He frowns. “Wait, why were you going to Kansas anyway? I thought you still had school.”

“Yeah, but -- I wanted to see you two, dummies.” She rubs the back of her neck nervously. “And, I’m not missing any classes tonight, and I brought my homework with me so I can do it here.”

BoJack grimaces. “Wow, seems like you were really desperate to see us.”

“Yeah, but…” She sighs. “Yeah.” 

She just manages to shoot him a wink while Herb’s distracted opening the car door. BoJack returns the gesture.

* * *

“You know, people always tell me I should stop drinking so much.” He takes another sip. “And I mean, they’re probably right. A while back, I swore off alcohol forever, but, well… That’s how it works, I guess. A taste, and you’re hooked.” He takes another sip, dripping brown liquid down his coat. “The problem is, it doesn’t _work._ It doesn’t make me numb. I can still see everything so _clearly._ I drink to forget, but I always remember.”

“You’re drinking hot chocolate,” says Hollyhock.

“And it’s _good_ hot chocolate, too!” He slings an arm around Herb’s shoulders. “Seriously, who knew this guy was so good at making drinks?”

“BJ, you’re embarrassing me.”

Hollyhock flops backward onto the couch and kicks an empty pizza box off the coffee table, coming dangerously close to spilling some dangerous chemicals onto the floor. “Ugh, do you guys have ice cream?”

BoJack stares at her. “Didn’t you _just_ eat, like, a whole pizza by yourself?”

“Uh, _yeah.”_ She looks at him like he’s an idiot. “I ate too much pizza and now I need ice cream to smush it down.”

“That makes _no_ sense, though.”

Herb groans. “I’m gonna go grab the ice cream.” He stands up and exits the room.

BoJack frowns. “Hey, are you sure that’s a good idea?” His ears perk up. “Because, I mean, basically every time you walk more than two feet you somehow end up tripping over the --”

There’s a loud _thud_ from the kitchen.

“Roomba,” finishes BoJack. “You always _somehow_ end up tripping over the roomba.” He smacks himself in the forehead. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” calls back Herb from the other room.

“You know, this wouldn’t happen so often if you learned to _look where you’re going.”_

“Leave me alone, it’s not my fault I’m clumsy and sleep-deprived.”

After a few moments, Hollyhock grows impatient with the lack of ice cream and stands up. “I’m gonna go see what’s taking him so long.” She walks into the kitchen, where Herb is struggling to scoop the ice cream into a bowl.

“It’s all frozen,” he says defensively. “It’s hard to get it out.”

“Seriously? Ugh, just give me the whole tub, it’ll save time.”

“You are _not_ eating that much ice cream at once after already eating a whole pizza.”

“I never said I’d eat all of it!”

“What, so you’ll leave us the ice cream infected with all your Connecticut germs? No way.”

“Ugh.” She starts to pace irritably around the kitchen, then frowns as her foot collides with something and creates a rattling noise. She looks down to see a small orange object, and upon picking it up, discovers that it’s a bottle full of pills. “What’s this?”

“Hmm?” Herb looks up. “Oh, the pills. They must have fallen out of my pocket when I fell.”

Her frown deepens. “...These are yours?”

“Well, no, but --”

“That’s a lot of pills.” He turns his whole body away from the ice cream, and she unconsciously takes a step back. “I mean, if they’re not yours, then why do you even have them?”

“Because I’m keeping them for --”

“Didn’t you learn anything from BoJack’s overdose? You don’t just _take_ pills, that can _kill_ you.” Her eyes widen and she gasps aloud. “Oh my God, is that why you have them?! Are you going to take these to kill yourself?!”

“What? No! God, no. Hollyhock, please, just --”

 _“Whoops!”_ She tears the lid off and tips the pills into the sink, and they fall down the drain before Herb can do anything about it.

Herb stares at her. “Hollyhock, those were for BJ!”

“...Oh. Then, _actually,_ whoops.” After a pause, she adds, “Sorry?”

“Oh my God.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Uh, BJ?”

“What?” calls BoJack irritably from the other room. 

“We … kinda have a problem.” 

“Ugh, what?”

Herb shoots Hollyhock an expectant look. She sighs. “Okay, so, I _kinda_ poured your medication down the sink…”

_“What?”_

She’s still rushing through a series of explanations and excuses and apologies when BoJack walks into the room, peers down the sink as though hoping he’ll somehow see that it’s all an elaborate prank, and throws up his hands in frustration. _“Why_ would you do that?!”

“I didn’t know why he had them!” she says defensively, stepping backward. “I thought he was going to overdose. What were they for, anyway?”

“I hurt my back in a stunt at work and I got Herb to take care of the painkillers because I have _known_ substance abuse issues.” He smacks himself in the forehead. “This is _exactly_ what I told you _not_ to do.”

Herb tilts his head. “What?”

“Oh, she…” He groans, waving a hand dismissively. “She knows about the tweet and I told her she could come over to make sure you were okay _if_ she didn’t make it her responsibility to somehow ‘save’ you and make everything worse. Which she did.”

“Oh my God.” He turns to Hollyhock. “I didn’t even mean that in the first place! And, you were _never_ meant to see that tweet. That’s why I posted it on the one social media site you don’t have! How did you see it anyway?”

“The homophobic incel who replied telling you to ‘go ahead and do it’ is a popular Tumblr user who regularly reblogs from Neo-Nazis. I saw a screenshot in his callout post.”

“...Isn’t that the site where people do ace discourse?”

Hollyhock rubs her arm guiltily, staring down at her shoes. “Sorry about the whole ‘dumping your medication because of an out-of-context tweet I saw on Tumblr’ thing.”

BoJack waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about that. It’s ancient history.”

“...It was two minutes ago.”

“Yeah, but you had good intentions. And, it doesn’t matter! We’ve still got a few hours before the last meds I took wear off. All we need to do is find more by then.”

Herb raises an eyebrow. “So where are you, a man with known substance abuse issues, going to get more of those highly-addictive and potentially dangerous pills?”

He smirks. “I have my ways.” He takes out his phone and dials a number. “Hey, Sarah Lynn, do you have some opiates I can borrow? ...Oh, thanks anyway. Bye.” He hangs up. “Well, I’m all out of ways.”

“That was only one way, at best.”

Hollyhock frowns. “There’s _got_ to be a place where you can get more.” Her eyes light up. “Like, a doctor prescribed them to you, right? So if you just go back to the doctor and explain what happened, you can get more.”

“Again,” says Herb. “BoJack is a man with a known history of substance abuse, and those meds are _highly_ addictive. It was a pretty rare chance that he got prescribed them in the first place.”

“Oh.” Her face falls. “Well, I mean, maybe you left some somewhere else? Like, at a friend’s house?”

BoJack scoffs. “What friends?”

“You have friends,” says Herb.

“Yeah, but Todd lives with us, Diane always visits because her apartment sucks, and we haven’t seen Charlotte since that time I crashed with her for two months and then OD’d. And I haven’t had any reason to go to Gina’s house in this universe. She kinda hates me.”

Herb smirks. “Is it because you like _Digimon_ better than _Pokemon?”_

“What? No!” His eyes widen and he groans. “Is this more of your annoying self-referential writer humour that makes no sense?”

“Mm-hmm,” says Herb. “That joke was a reference to the seventy-thousand word fanfiction I wrote that was basically just a very elaborate role swap AU of cars and water.”

“Ugh, I _hate_ that writers do that.” says Hollyhock.

BoJack’s eyes light up. “Herb, you’re a genius.”

“Yeah, I know.”

BoJack waits for Herb to have a double take and say, “Wait, what?” He never does, so BoJack takes matters into his own hands. “That thing you said, about the fanfiction, it gave me an idea. I know how I can get more meds prescribed. Come on, to the car!” 

He points dramatically. Hollyhock shrugs and exits the room. 

Herb starts walking and BoJack follows close behind him. “Geez, it sounds like that tweet you made ages ago is kind of snowballing out, huh?”

Herb stiffens. “Yeah.”

“So, I mean, if you wanted to, I dunno, take this as an opportunity to open up about your feelings, then --”

“BJ, don’t.” He doesn’t look at him.

BoJack’s face falls. “Babe, you _literally_ said you wanted to kill yourself. And you haven’t even addressed it since! You can’t just say something like that and sweep it under the rug.”

“Why not? You did it pretty consistently before you almost died and I talked you into going to rehab.” 

There’s a long, painful silence.

BoJack rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“...Do you want a hug, at least?”

Herb still doesn’t look at him. “No.”

* * *

As it turns out, dragging Sarah Lynn to rehab was a _terrible_ idea.

“You see,” explains Dr. Hu, while Hollyhock just sort of sits there, wondering who this doctor is and how he’s significant and why nobody ever explains this sort of thing to her. “After you made Sarah Lynn go to rehab, they learned that sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind. So they forced me to go to Pastiches, and now I feel like I’ve regenerated into a brand new doctor.”

“I’ve also regenerated into a brand new doctor,” says BoJack. “I’m in therapy and everything, and I’ve been sober for a full year now. Now give me drugs.”

He lazily waves the piece of paper, which Dr. Hu reads, frowning. “Feelbetterin?” He stares at BoJack. “BoJack, have you been taking those highly-addictive opioids?”

BoJack waves a hand dismissively. “I know, it _sounds_ bad, but I actually have a serious back injury.”

“He was prescribed painkillers before,” explains Hollyhock. “But I threw them out because of an out-of-context screenshot of a tweet I saw in a Tumblr callout post.” 

Dr. Hu scoffs. “Do you know how many times I’ve heard that story before?”

“...That _exact_ story?” asks Herb. “Including the part about the out-of-context tweet in a Tumblr post?”

“I don’t know who you think you’re fooling, but this Hu won’t get fooled again.”

* * *

The car gradually slows to a halt and Herb takes a deep breath. “Okay, this place is pretty shady. Hollyhock, you might want to wait in the car.”

Hollyhock crosses her arms, indignant. “I keep telling you, I’m not a kid anymore. I’m eighteen.”

“It’s not about you being a kid, it’s about not wanting you caught in the middle if anything goes wrong.”

“This is my fault! I want to help.”

“Let her come,” says BoJack, and Herb relents because it’s clear from his voice that he just wants to get this over with as soon as possible. He gets out of the car, and waits for BoJack and Hollyhock to do the same, and then carefully checks that each door is locked. Then, he takes another deep breath, and starts walking.

“God, this place always gives me the creeps.”

“Relax,” says BoJack reassuringly. “It’s gonna be _fine._ Be more positive! Like Mr. Peanutbutter.”

Herb rolls his eyes. “Okay then, I’ll think like Mr. Peanutbutter. Am I Owl City? Because…” He takes a deep breath. _“Please_ take me away from here.”

“That is _not_ the main reason why you’re Owl City,” says Hollyhock.

Finally, a van pulls up under the bridge, and a many-legged insect in black clothing steps out. “Oh, thank God,” BoJack breathes as he walks up to the dealer. “Do you have opioids?”

The dealer narrows his eyes. “Are you a cop?”

“What? No! Why would -- oh.” He looks down at the _Philbert_ outfit he’s still wearing. “This is just because I’m an actor.”

The dealer tilts his head. “Don’t you give the outfits back when you’re not acting?”  
“Well, normally I would, but we seem to be living in some bizarre world where everyone wears the same outfit constantly for multiple years, so who knows?

While the dealer is still considering this, Officer Meow Meow Fuzzyface rolls over to them on a scooter, wearing a T-shirt with a visible bulge for his police badge. “Hello drug merchant, it is _lit_ under here. Are there illegal pharmaceuticals available for purchase? And please, talk into my lollipop.” He holds out his lollipop, which is visibly a microphone.

The dealer shrugs and gives him the drugs, prompting him to talk into his walkie-talkie and summon several more police officers.

“Oh shit,” says Herb. 

BoJack takes a few frantic steps away from the police, then turns back to Herb and Hollyhock incredulously. “Well, what are you waiting for?! _Run!”_

They don’t need telling twice.

Herb tries to keep to the back at first, because BoJack had a decent head start that keeps him ahead and someone has to be behind Hollyhock to keep her safe, but no matter how much he keeps track of his position in relation to the others, even when he’s going as slow as he can afford to, he finds himself pulling ahead of BoJack. And he tries to stay behind him, stay at the back, because Hollyhock’s just a kid even though she’s eighteen now and BoJack’s hurt and that means Herb has to be _the responsible one,_ but _God,_ BoJack just can _not_ keep up, and he’s out of breath basically the second they start running, and, well, it’s a bit impossible for Herb to not worry that the last painkillers have worn off already.

They come to a halt in an alleyway, with a wired fence forcing them into a dead end. Herb glances behind him and then, seeing that they’re still being pursued, turns to Hollyhock. “Do you think you can climb over?”

Hollyhock gulps. “Uh, not very quickly…”

Herb manages to boost her over the fence while the cops are still a safe distance from them. BoJack needs a little more convincing.

“What, so we’re just gonna leave the shortest guy to climb over last?”

“You can’t lift me over _and_ climb! You’re injured.”

“It doesn’t even hurt yet!” Herb bites back a skeptical retort to save time. “I can do it!”

“It’s not good for you. Just do what I say, it’ll save time.”

However reluctantly, he lets himself be boosted over the fence, grunting as he hits the ground on the other side and immediately turning to Hollyhock and telling her to go ahead and wait for them to catch up. Herb gulps, then jumps as high as he can, grabbing hold of the fence and starting to climb.

Hollyhock’s out of sight by the time he reaches the top. He sits atop the fence, carefully gripping the wire. “Woah, that’s pretty high.”

“Yeah, the trick is to be climbing over so fast you don’t have time to think about that.”

“Well, maybe next time you should tell me that _before_ I’m sitting on top of a fence being chased by the cops.” His eyes widen. “That’s not a sentence I ever thought I’d have to say. Especially without Todd being involved.”

“Yeah, well, here’s something I bet nobody’s ever said to you before: What’s the weather like up there?”

Herb laughs, then grips the wire tighter. “I swear to God, if you keep teasing me about being short until I break my leg _again,_ I’m gonna kill you.”

He waits for the snarky response. It never comes.

He looks down and sees that BoJack is breathing heavily, shifting his gaze between Herb and something on the other side of the wire fence. He starts to carefully turn, to see whatever BoJack’s looking at without falling, but BoJack sees him shift and says, without looking up at him, “Don’t move.”

Herb gulps.

“You know when you say that it makes me want to move, right?” He forces a chuckle, hoping that BoJack’s about to laugh along with him and reveal that this whole thing is just a _very_ elaborate April Fools joke. In September. “Like, when you say that, it just --”

“Don’t talk either.” He’s not shifting his gaze anymore but just staring at something behind Herb on the other side of the fence. His breathing is getting heavier, and by this point he just looks downright _scared._

There’s a long, ominous silence.

“Who _are_ you?”

The unfamiliar voice makes him act on instinct, and he’s moved to see who’s talking before he can even think of BoJack’s instructions, let alone the fact that he’s very carefully perched atop a wire fence. He loses his balance and crashes to the ground, and for several moments everything’s a blur of pain and confusion and noise.

He finally catches his breath and manages to open his eyes, and there’s a gun pointed at his face. 

He blinks frantically, but each time he opens his eyes it’s _still there._ It’s a handgun, being held in the white, furry hand of an unfamiliar polar bear, and it’s carefully trained on his forehead. The shady alleyway and the fence behind him all fade away; he doesn’t even _think_ to be curious about who this person is and why they want to kill him. There’s no context, nor a desire for context. He exists in a vacuum, and the only thing that matters is the gun pointed at his face and the isolated thought of _you’re going to die._

But, he doesn’t exist in a vacuum.

“Who _are_ you?” the polar bear repeats. His voice is low and deep and has a sort of growling quality to it, and when Herb finally looks up at his face it seems that _he’s_ just as scared as them.

“We’re just a couple of _guys,_ that’s all,” BoJack insists. “We came here to get drugs.” He pauses. “Uh, you’re not a cop, are you? Because if you are, then we just came here to do some … legal stuff.”

“I’m not a cop.” He doesn’t laugh. “Were you the ones that brought the cops here?”

“No, that was the cat! He was an undercover cop pretending to be a teen. It was really obvious but nobody noticed for some reason!”

“If you’re not a cop, then why are you wearing that outfit?”

“Uh, _hello?_ I’m Philbert. You know, the _star_ of the _very popular_ show of the same name?”

“Very popular?” asks Herb. “It hasn’t even been released yet.”

“The _soon-to-be very popular_ show of the same name.” He takes a step forward. “Dude, you don’t want to do this. Drugs are one thing -- murder’s _completely_ different. And, you’re _definitely_ going to get arrested if you shoot us.”

“So you _are_ a cop?”

“What? No!” He gestures toward the direction Hollyhock left in. “My sister’s somewhere over there, and if we don’t catch up to her soon, she’s gonna look for us, okay? So, just put the gun down and we’ll leave you alone.”

There’s a long, painful silence.

The handgun falls to the ground. Herb lets out the breath he’d been holding. BoJack doesn’t _say,_ “I lied,” but he somehow thinks it loud enough for Herb to hear.

He doesn’t _climb_ over the fence so much as he _leaps;_ he clears most of the height in a single jump and hoists himself over the other side with ease. When he falls to the ground on the other side, it doesn’t _seem_ like he falls at all. He grunts, but he lands squarely on his feet, and he’s caught his breath and gained awareness of his surroundings before anyone has a chance to figure out what’s going on. He has enough of a head start to have the polar bar pinned to the wire fence before he has a chance to fight back.

“Don’t you _ever_ scare Herb like that again,” he absolutely _snarls,_ grabbing a fistful of fabric from the guy’s shirt and using it to slam him against the fence again, and _again._ He finally lets him free, but he grabs the gun before the polar bear can. He points it behind him, slightly downward, and glances over his shoulder to make sure there’s nobody there. There’s several _deafening_ flashes of light, and several _blinding_ booms, and he keeps shooting until he ends up with just blanks.

The polar bear, for some reason, runs off while he’s doing this.

“Ah, shit,” he murmurs. “Okay, let’s make this quick, he’s probably bringing reinforcements. Herb, let me get you over the fence.”

Herb frowns. “Your back.”

“It’s fine.” He winces. “Barely hurts. We don’t have _time.”_

Herb, hesitantly, allows himself to be boosted over the fence, and BoJack’s almost supernaturally quick to climb over himself. Herb stares at him with wide eyes. “How did you _do_ that?”

“I told you, it’s --” He takes a deep breath. “It’s fine.”

“No, I mean, before. When you just _jumped_ the fence? How is that even possible?”

“Adrenaline. We’ve gotta go.” He breaks into a run, and Herb follows.

Once they’ve turned a second corner and it’s impossible to know which direction Hollyhock went in from there, BoJack slows to a stop and leans against a nearby wall, gasping for air. “We’ve, we’ve gotta call Hollyhock.”

“Yeah, call Hollyhock,” pants Herb. “You okay?”

“...Yeah.” He gets out his phone to call Hollyhock.

The thing is, you _cannot_ make a phone call while leaning against a wall. It simply isn’t possible. Making a phone call, or answering one for that matter, is an action that requires all manner of fidgeting. One must pace around their room relentlessly, or uselessly gesture with the hand that isn’t holding the phone even though the other person can’t see them, or start completing an entirely separate task on the computer during the conversation. Or, most of the time, all three. And before Hollyhock’s even answered the phone, some deep instinct within BoJack compels him to stand up straight and start pacing even when he still hasn’t caught his breath.

He makes it a few steps, pauses, and sways.

Herb has maybe a few seconds, if he’s being generous, to figure out what’s happening and do something, but he still manages to sling BoJack’s arm over his shoulders in time to hold him up so he doesn’t immediately eat shit on the pavement below. He struggles under BoJack’s weight, and in the absence of a better option, decides to gently lower him to the ground. He’s almost fully down when he starts trying to get back up.

“Stay down,” Herb hisses. “I don’t want you to fall again.”

“I’m _fine,”_ BoJack tries to insist, but his voice is breaking as he says it. “It’s nothing, really, it’s -- _ugh.”_ The sentence devolves into a series of pained moans, and Herb finally manages to get him to stay down.

“BJ, you need to breathe.”

The next several breaths BoJack manages to draw in are shuddered and hitched, but after several moments he manages to regulate his breathing. He groans. “Let me up.”

“You might fall again and get hurt.”

“The ground’s uneven. It’s, it’s making it worse.” Herb hesitates, but the slight crack in his voice during the “Please,” that follows is persuasive enough, and he helps BoJack to sit up. Even with Herb’s support, it’s evidently a lot of effort to move at all, because the second he’s in a sitting position he leans forward as much as he can bear and vomits onto the pavement in front of him. 

He wipes his mouth with a shaking arm, and Herb stays there, kneeling next to him, waiting for him to make some self-deprecating joke about how his dentist is gonna have his ass for this. 

He never does.

“...BJ?”

BoJack meets his eye, but doesn’t turn to face him, instead keeping his neck perfectly still and breathing heavily. “Sorry. About … you know.” He gestures vaguely.

“... _Please_ tell me you’re not drugging yourself again, or anything crazy like that.”

“What? No! God, no.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “It’s just -- My back hurts. A lot.”

“So much you’re literally _fainting_ and _throwing up?”_ His eyes widen and he cautiously wraps an arm around his shoulder, watching cautiously for any sign that the gesture is making things worse. “You said you were fine.”

“Yeah, well, the adrenaline sort of stopped me from feeling it, even when I was doing crazy shit like jumping fences and lifting you up.” He winces. “Also, I was lying.”

Herb’s face falls. “Why would you lie to me about that?”

“Uh, I dunno. There was a lot going on? And…” He sighs. “I didn’t want you to worry about me.”

“Well, _now_ I’m worried!”

“Yeah, I know. I did the thing again. I tried to hide all my problems so I wouldn’t be a burden to you, and then hiding it made it worse and that’s the real reason I ended up burdening you. Guess I haven’t _totally_ regenerated into a brand new doctor.” He forces a chuckle. “Neither have you, though.” 

“I never claimed to have regenerated into a brand new doctor.”

“Yeah, but -- why do you _think_ I tried to downplay it?” He gestures vaguely. _“Every_ time I have a problem, you do that _thing_ where you drive yourself nuts trying to make my life easier, and then you don’t let anyone help you because you want to put me first. And I don’t want you to do that right now! Especially since…”

There’s a long, painful silence. 

“You know… the tweet?”  
Herb throws up his hands in frustration. “I didn’t even mean that in the first place! It’s ancient history now. Can’t you just let it go?!”

 _“No!”_ He turns to face Herb, and moving his neck makes him wince but he does it anyway. “I _can’t_ just let it go! _You_ wouldn’t let it go if _I_ said something like that, so why shouldn’t I show you the same decency?” He reaches out to touch his shoulder. “You can’t just say something like that and then not talk about it afterwards.”

“...What’s there to say?” asks Herb. “I mean, you _know_ why I posted that tweet. You were there for all of the shitty stuff that happened.”

“What’s there to say?” chokes BoJack. “How about, _are you going to kill yourself?”_

“No!” He flinches. “God, no. BJ, that tweet was -- that was just a _moment,_ okay? I don’t want to hurt myself, or -- or anything like that.”

“...But you did when you posted the tweet?”

“...” He sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I did.”

BoJack raises an eyebrow. “You _think?”_

“Well, I mean, it’s hard to _know,_ isn’t it? Whether you actually _mean_ something or, or it’s just a _thing_ that pops into your head. But, yeah, I think…” He bites his lip. “I mean, I didn’t _mean-_ mean it, you know? Like, I was suicidal, but I wasn’t _suicidal-_ suicidal. If I had the means to go through with it, in that moment, I wouldn’t have! I _know_ I wouldn’t have. I just --”

“Herb, stop trying to downplay it.”

There’s a long, painful silence.

“I think I’m depressed.”

“Yeah, I think so too.” He hesitates. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Herb stiffens. “No.”

“...Do you want a hug, at least?”

“...Yeah, that’d be nice.”

BoJack wraps his arms tightly around Herb, and Herb returns the gesture, but it’s _more_ than that, and within seconds they’re passionately making out. It takes them several seconds to even _think_ about separating. When they finally move apart, they’re both grinning wildly.

“Woah,” says BoJack.

Herb frowns. “What?”

“I dunno, it’s just -- you haven’t been like _that_ since -- since Emily. I mean, you’ve kissed me, but you haven’t _kissed_ me, you know?”

“I guess I haven’t.” His eyes light up. “Do you wanna have sex?”

BoJack gives him an incredulous look. “Herb, we’re in an abandoned alleyway in a shady part of town, sitting next to a pile of my own vomit, which I threw up because I’m in _agony_ and I can _barely_ move, and my sister is probably going to either come here and find us or call us any minute to ask if we’re okay after we, you know, almost got shot after running from the police."

There’s a long pause.

“...Of _course_ I want to have sex!”

* * *

After they predictably fail to have sex, Hollyhock finds the car and picks them up. They spend a few hours hanging out at home and predictably lose track of time, and then she goes back to the airport in a rush with half of her stuff still on BoJack’s coffee table. She barely has time to make Herb promise to _look where he’s going_ because if he trips over the roomba one more time he’s probably going to end up seriously hurt before she has to dash off to make the plane.

BoJack, through what he can only describe as a combination of Herb being damn saintlike and _literal miracles,_ makes it through withdrawal without clawing his own face off or punching a hole in the wall. The initial injury remains a problem, but it turns out that it heals _way_ faster when he’s not drugging himself up until he can’t feel it and then running around doing things that make it worse all day, who could have guessed?

The shooting schedule for _Philbert_ was already pretty thoroughly ruined when he fell off that building, but that doesn’t stop Princess Carolyn from offering him more painkillers if it’ll mean he can do the hard parts of his job again. Herb just looks her dead in the eye and assures her that if BoJack’s injury gets worse, he’ll get _every_ safety technician fired. Things are just starting to go back to normal.

Which is honestly just making BoJack even more annoyed, because now that things are going _back to normal,_ there is absolutely _no_ reason why he should be fumbling for his phone to figure out what time it is and discovering that it’s _three in the goddamn morning._

“What the hell?” he murmurs sleepily, eyes still half-shut to protect against the sudden brightness that came when the light was rather rudely turned on a few seconds ago. 

“BJ, wake up.”

BoJack turns his phone on again, but it’s still _three in the goddamn morning,_ so he shuts his eyes and tells himself if it’s important then he’ll try a little harder to wake him up.

“BJ!” Herb’s not even whispering anymore, and as much as BoJack would _love_ to pretend he slept through all of the lights and quiet urging to _wake up,_ he’s already been seen looking at his phone twice, so he opens his eyes as much as he can. 

“Babe, it’s, like, three AM.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but you gotta wake up.” He sounds downright anxious now, and somehow that wakes BoJack up a little more. “Please.”

“Ugh, what the hell?” He groans and props himself up on his elbows. “This better be good.”

“It’s not. And, I’m sorry.” BoJack tilts his head, staring at him. He’s looking down at BoJack with wide, pleading eyes, and his legs are visibly shaking so badly that he looks like he’s about to just collapse to the ground where he stands, and he’s sort of oddly cradling his left arm in his right. “I know it’s kind of a dick move to make you get up at three in the morning but trying not to wake people up hasn’t been working so well for me tonight.”

BoJack frowns. “Huh?”

“I didn’t want to wake Todd up by turning a light on so I was just walking around in the dark. And --”

“You tripped over the roomba _again?!”_

“Y-Yeah.”

“You _idiot.”_

“I think my arm’s broken.”

“Oh my God.” He sits up properly and takes a deep breath. “Look, I’m not mad at you, but you _need_ to learn to look where you’re going.” 

“I know.” His voice breaks. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s, it’s fine. Just give me a minute and I’ll drive you to hospital.” He leans against the bed frame to push himself into a standing position, then frowns. “Wait, what were you even doing up? It’s literally three in the morning.”

There’s a long, ominous pause.

“...Baby.”

Herb remains silent.

BoJack sighs. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Herb draws in a deep breath.

“...No.”


	24. It's Not About The Shoelaces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At two different Halloween parties, Herb gets upset over easily-solved problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me writing chapter 23: what if herb tripping over the Roomba was a plot point?  
> me writing chapter 24: what if herb hating converse was a plot point?  
> me writing chapter 25, probably: what if herb misinterpreting the lyrics of one very specific song was a plot point?

He flopped down onto the couch. “Isn’t it just so  _ amazing  _ that it’s currently 1997?”

“I agree,” said BoJack. “I mean, I’m also living in 1997 and I know exactly what’s happened so far in the year, but why don’t you give me a recap anyway?”

“Okay,” said Herb. “Well, now that we don’t have to worry about  _ Horsin’ Around  _ anymore, this is the year in which I finally moved in with you! Which also means that it’s going to be the first time we spend Halloween together.” He began searching around under the couch cushions for the TV remote. “I can’t wait to introduce you to my personal Halloween tradition of watching a movie at home.”

BoJack grimaced. “Uh, I probably should have told you, but we might not get a chance. Mr. Peanutbutter has this tradition of bringing the Halloween party to my house.”

“Still, we should  _ try  _ to have our own traditions, shouldn’t we?”

“Yeah!” agrees Todd. “I mean, we don’t  _ know  _ that Mr. Peanutbutter will still want to have a party here in 2018, the year which it currently is. So we should keep trying with our own personal celebrations of playing vaguely spooky video games from five years ago, which is what we’re doing right now!”

BoJack frowns. “I don’t know,” he murmurs. “I mean, do we really need to keep  _ trying  _ forever, even when we know we won’t succeed?”

“Uh,  _ yeah,”  _ says Herb. “we can’t just  _ give up.” _

“That’s the problem, though, because when we live in a society that so heavily stigmatises the idea of ‘giving up’, it leads to people who would rather continue with futile attempts to get out of their current shitty situation than actually try to make that situation less shitty. Sometimes  _ giving up  _ just means accepting your circumstances and learning to ask for help.” He presses a button on his handheld game console. “Also, no offense, Herb, but you are  _ shit  _ at one-handed  _ Luigi’s Mansion.” _

“You’d probably be shit at it too but  _ nobody  _ is willing to play it one-handed in solidarity,” protests Herb, struggling to play the video game with one hand. He looks down. “Oh shit, can we pause the game? My shoelaces are untied.”

Everybody groans.

They pause the game, and Herb spends a long time trying to tie his shoelaces with one hand. 

“You know,” says BoJack cautiously. “I just feel like this would go faster if you let me --”

“I don’t  _ need  _ help, BJ.” 

He was still looking under the couch cushions for the TV remote when an artificial  _ neigh  _ echoed throughout the room. “I’ll get that.” He stood up, then frowned. “Wait, can you? My shoelaces are untied.”

BoJack stood up, smirking. “Geez, those shoes have some pretty shitty laces, huh?”

“Don’t say that! They were a gift from Charlotte, it would be rude to say they’re bad shoes.” He pauses. “But yeah, they do have pretty shitty laces.”

Herb was still struggling with his shoelaces when BoJack opened the door, and Mr. Peanutbutter’s unnecessary crowds started pouring in. Caught off guard, he quickly tied a final knot and stood up.

Herb is still struggling with his shoelaces.

BoJack began his futile efforts to control the crowds of the party, while Herb was frantically trying to stop a couple of teenagers from spiking the punch. Failing that, he dashed upstairs to ensure that the bedroom was locked and there was no risk of anyone discovering that his stuff was there. It was, so he went back down to try and enjoy the party.

Herb is still struggling with his shoelaces.

BoJack stares at him with a raised eyebrow. “Do you want help with that?”

“No, it’s fine.” He gives up and just tucks the loose ends of the laces into his shoes so he won’t trip on them. “This is just my life now.” 

“Crazy party, huh?”

He nodded. “I was  _ not  _ emotionally ready for this.”

“What can I say? The party follows me around. You should have been prepared for this, Herb.”

Herb threw up his hands in frustration. “How was I supposed to be prepared for this?!”

BoJack stares around at the bottles of alcohol being distributed on the various benches and tables. “W-Woah, that’s a  _ lot  _ of booze.”

“You’ll be okay. I’ve got you. Let’s just get a non-alcoholic drink.” He takes BoJack’s hand and leads him into the kitchen. He  _ tries  _ to pour him a glass of water, but this takes an abnormally long time because he only has one arm -- and it’s his non-dominant arm, too, because the universe hates him. He groans. “I was  _ not  _ physically ready for this.”

“What can I say? The party follows me around. You should have been prepared for this, Herb.”

Herb sighs. “Yeah. I should have.”

* * *

He carelessly downed another shot. 

Herb frowned. “Are you sure you should be drinking that much? The night only just started.” 

“Relax, I’m fine.” He took another shot, for good measure. 

“Are you  _ sure  _ you’re okay?”

“...Yeah.” He gulps. “Just -- there’s a  _ lot  _ of alcohol here, is all.” 

“You know, you don’t have to stay here. The party will be fine without you.”

“What, and leave my idiot husband bumbling around with one arm?” He scoffs. “I can handle this. Plus, my therapist is going to be  _ so  _ proud when I tell her about this.”

“I did not expect that to be such a powerful motivator for you.” 

“Yeah, well, if it works, it works, huh?” He frowned. “You look anxious.” 

“I’m good,” Herb insisted. “Just wasn’t expecting this.”

“You should have. Your shoelaces are untied.”

His face falls. “...Oh.”

Herb bent down to tie his shoelaces  _ again,  _ then continued looking for someone other than BoJack that he actually  _ knew  _ at the party. He couldn’t seem to find anyone. There was Mr. Peanutbutter, obviously, and his wife, but Herb  _ barely  _ knew them. Princess Carolyn was at the door, but that was an absolute last resort.

Herb is still struggling with his shoelaces.

BoJack stares at him. “Are you sure you don’t --”

“No, I don’t want help.” He glances up. “Look, there’s Gina. She probably doesn’t know anyone here. You’d better go make sure she’s not lonely.”

“...Okay.”

He casually downed another shot or two or several on his way to the other room, where Gina rebuffs all of his attempts at conversation. He steps back, frowning, and it  _ hurts,  _ hurts more than a rejection from someone he barely knows should. So, he tries those stupid-ass breathing exercises that his therapist is always harping on about, but that’s  _ worse,  _ because every time he breathes he can  _ smell so much goddamn alcohol.  _

He takes a deep breath, which reeks of vodka, and tears his eyes away from the bottles he didn’t realise he was staring at. He  _ can’t  _ let himself take any, not even a sip.  _ One  _ shot is all it will take to ruin him.

He took another shot.

He felt a hand tugging on his sleeve and turned to see Herb staring up at him. “BJ, I don’t know  _ anyone  _ here.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You know Mr. Peanutbutter.”

“He’s with Katrina! And Katrina  _ never  _ stops talking about politics. Also, if I talk to a guy, or stand in the same general area as one for too long, then people start accusing me of hitting on him.”

“That makes  _ no  _ sense.”

“Yeah, but it’s what happens. Also, these shoes are  _ really  _ uncomfortable.”

“...Then wear different shoes?”

“No way, these ones have rainbows on them. Ugh!” He groaned. “Can you introduce me to someone? I don’t want to just stand around looking like an idiot all night.”

“You do  _ not  _ look like an idiot.” He frowned. “You okay? You seem super … I dunno,  _ weird.”  _

“I’m good.”

BoJack just raises an eyebrow at that. “You’ve been trying to tie your shoelaces for, like, ten minutes.”

“...I’m good.”

He sighed. “Okay, you know what?” He pointed to a human woman with brown hair. “That’s Belinda. I had sex with her in the 80s. She’s super nice! Go talk to her.”

“Next time maybe don’t mention that you had sex with her.”

“Yeah, it sounded good in my head, but less good in my mouth. I bet you two would be great friends.” He nudged him in the ribs playfully. “And I mean, are you nervous? Because this place is  _ full  _ of liquid courage.”

“Thanks, BJ.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I love you.”

There was a long, painful silence.

“Well,” said BoJack. “Since this conversation has reached its natural conclusion, I’m gonna go hang out near the pool.”

* * *

The second she sees the crowd of cars outside the house, she groans. “Oh, shit. The Halloween party.”

She parks as close by as she can, then goes inside, unconsciously clutching the pages in her hand. She does her best to ignore Mr. Peanutbutter, and  _ that pug girl,  _ as she looks for the horse.

She doesn’t find him, but she thinks it’s close enough. “Hey, can you give BoJack these pages for me?”

Herb raises an eyebrow at her. “Yeah, sure. Not like I need to have any arms.” He gestures vaguely with the arm that isn’t in the sling. “I think he’s near the pool.” 

“Shit, what happened to your arm?”

“Tripped and fell.”

“Oof. Where did you say BoJack was, again?”

“Uh…” He glances around, then groans. “You know what? I can take the pages, it’s fine. You’d better go.”

“...You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll be good. I don’t really need arms anyway.”

“If you’re sure.” She hands him the pages, then frowns. “Your shoelaces are untied.”

He gives her a look.

“Yeah, I just realised why you can’t do anything about that. Do you want me to --”

“No!” he snaps. “I can handle it. I don’t really need shoelaces, either. And, I know you don’t like parties, and I’m not gonna make you stick around.”

“...Well, thanks.” She hesitates, but eventually turns and leaves. She exits the building, and almost immediately discovers that her car is being blocked from exiting by two other cars. “...God  _ damn  _ it.”

* * *

He paced around the room, gesturing wildly, making himself as large as it was possible for him to do so in an attempt to hide how  _ small  _ he felt. “And you know what the biggest bullshit is? He has rainbow sneakers.”

“I hate that,” said Katrina. “Why does being gay have to be people’s entire personality now?”

“...How is a pair of sneakers your entire personality?” He groaned. “No, I’m annoyed about it because  _ I  _ don’t have pride sneakers.”

Mr. Peanutbutter tilted his head. “Why don’t you get some?”

“Because I’m not gay! How come there are rainbow converse but no bi converse? Somebody has  _ got  _ to make bi converse a thing.”

Mr. Peanutbutter proudly lifts his foot onto the chair, showing off his new sneakers for all to see. BoJack’s face falls. “Somebody made bi converse a thing.”

“Don’t you like them?” asks Mr. Peanutbutter, beaming.

“No. I hate them. I have never wanted conversion therapy more than I do right now. Please get rid of them immediately.”

“I assume you’re being sarcastic!”

Pickles frowns, tilting her head at Mr. Peanutbutter. “I thought they were just pretty sneakers. Wait, are you bi?”

And it’s the  _ worse possible question. _

“Well,” answers Mr. Peanutbutter. “Is my sexuality an NSYNC song released on January 11, 2000? Because --”

“Because I may  _ hate  _ you,” spits BoJack. “God. I need a drink.”

He freezes.

Mr. Peanutbutter frowned. “Woah, my good buddy BoJack, are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” BoJack stuttered out. “It’s just, uh -- you’re holding hands.”

“...We’re  _ married,”  _ snarled Katrina.

“Yeah, I, I know that. And, it’s normal! It is  _ so  _ normal to be able to show affection to your partner. I understand that that is a normal thing, because I have  _ no  _ difficulty expressing affection.” He anxiously glances behind him. “Well, since this conversation has reached its natural conclusion, I’m going to go outside for some fresh air.”

There was a long, ominous silence.

Herb walks up to Mr. Peanutbutter, waving a script in his uninjured hand. “Have you seen BJ?”

“Uh, he said he had to go outside and get some fresh air because his alcohol cravings were through the roof. Why?”

“Diane wanted me to deliver these scripts. Ugh.” He attempts to smack himself in the forehead and instead gives himself a paper cut right above his left eyebrow. “I’m gonna go see if he’s near the pool.”

“Okay.” He frowns. “Oh, by the way, your shoelaces are untied.”

Herb just growls in response.

* * *

BoJack is not near the pool.

By the time it occurred that maybe he had gone  _ outside- _ outside, out the front door and away from the crowd, Princess Carolyn was already letting him back in, so it was pointless to have the thought in the first place. He walked over to him, frowning. “...Hey.”

BoJack rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “...Hey.”

“So…” He clears his throat. “Diane wanted me to give you these scripts.”

“Oh, thanks.” He folds the pages into a wad which he then places in his pocket, then frowns. “What happened to your face?”

“Paper cut.”

“...On your face? Also, your shoelaces are untied again.”

_ “Again!  _ Ugh.” He bent down and tied his shoelaces with ease. “God, I hate these shoes.”

“...Yeah,” said BoJack.

“...So, about, um…”

“About what?”

“You know, um…” He changed the subject again. “These shoes are super annoying.”

“Yeah, with the shoelaces. Must be killing you.”

Herb wasn’t sure why he snapped at that, but he swore that  _ something  _ inside him broke in that moment, a dam that had only just been holding back the weeks of  _ resentment,  _ the sort of resentment that only builds when  _ you say it  _ and  _ why won’t he say it back.  _ He turned on BoJack, pointing a finger accusingly.

“...Do you want me to --”

“No!” he snaps. “I don’t need you to tie my shoelaces for me like I’m a kid, okay? I can do it myself. And, really, it’s  _ fine  _ if they’re untied!”

BoJack raises an eyebrow at him. “So you tripped on a roomba and broke your arm, but you think having your shoelaces untied somehow isn’t a safety hazard?”

“Shut up.” He can’t tell  _ why  _ he’s so angry all of a sudden.

“Why won’t you let me help you?”

“I said,  _ shut up!  _ I’m  _ fine.” _

BoJack takes a step back, frowning. “Woah, why are you getting so mad all of a sudden? It’s literally just --”

His frustration was at an absolute boiling point by now.  _ “It’s not about the shoelaces!” _

The music stopped. The lights turned on.

“It’s the whole goddamn shoe!” Herb ranted, while BoJack stared at him with wide eyes. “I  _ hate  _ converse.  _ Hate  _ them! I feel like I can’t move my goddamn foot. It’s so  _ stupid!  _ It’s bad enough that boots include your ankles, but  _ sneakers?!  _ This is  _ nuts!  _ I hate  _ all of this!  _ I hate the laces that come undone if you look at them too hard and I hate that I can’t move my ankle and I hate that  _ you don’t love me!” _

“...Uh, what?”

“Ugh, you know what?  _ Forget it.”  _ BoJack reached out to touch his shoulder but he turned away. “I’m going upstairs.” 

There was a long, ominous silence.

His frustration is at an absolute boiling point by now.  _ “It’s not about the shoelaces!” _

The music stops. The lights turn on.

“It’s about  _ me,”  _ Herb rants, while BoJack stares at him with wide eyes. “It’s about  _ me  _ and how  _ I  _ don’t want everyone to bend over backwards trying to help me! I don’t  _ want  _ you to tie my goddamn shoelaces for me, because  _ I! Can! Handle! This!  _ And I  _ don’t  _ need help, and I can do it by myself, and I  _ have to be able to do it myself!” _

“...Uh, what?”

“Ugh, you know what?  _ Forget it.”  _ BoJack reaches out to touch his shoulder but he turns away. “I’m going upstairs.”

There’s a long, ominous silence.

Todd frowns. “Hey, is it just me, or did he seem a little upset?”

* * *

He knocked on the door, frowning. “Herb?” The door remained locked. “Herb, please, come on.” 

It took a long time for the lock to finally click and a longer time for the door to swing open. “...Hey.” It was hard to tell by looking at him whether he’d just stopped crying or if he was just about to start.

“Can I come in?”

He forced a laugh. “I dunno, can you?”

“Baby, please.” 

“Yeah, yeah, come in.” He opened the door a little wider so BoJack could enter the room, then quickly shut it behind him. “Sorry about… you know.”

“I’m not mad,” said BoJack, frowning. He sat down on the bed, looking guiltily at his feet, and then at Herb’s. “...You changed your shoes.”

“Well, yeah. That seemed like the logical thing to do after I ruined a party by throwing a tantrum about how much I didn’t like them.”

“Why didn’t you just wear different shoes before now?”

“...” He sighed. “Because I wanted to  _ win.” _

“...At shoes?”

“I don’t know.” He rubbed his arm nervously. “I had some weird idea that if I kept wearing the shoes I was stronger than I would have been if I just changed them, you know? Like taking them off was just too  _ easy.  _ I wanted to prove myself.”

“...By wearing shoes?”

Herb’s lip quivered.

“Oh shit.” He pulled Herb toward him just in time for him to start sobbing into his chest. “Do -- do you actually think I don’t love you?”

“What else am I meant to think?” he managed to choke out. “You  _ never  _ say it. Never! Four years, and not  _ once!  _ Is…” He sniffled. “Is it me?”

“What? God, no.” He pulled Herb closer to him. “Babe, I’ve never said that I love  _ anyone.  _ Like,  _ ever!  _ I didn’t realise you wanted me to. It’s - it’s not about you, okay? It’s just hard for me to say it.”

“...So,  _ do  _ you love me?”

BoJack gulped.

“...Yeah.” Herb’s face moved away from where it was buried in BoJack’s chest, staring up at him with those hopeful and expectant eyes, and BoJack forced a grin. “I mean, who doesn’t? You’re pretty damn lovable.”

Herb frowned. “Plenty of people don’t love me.”

“Yeah, but if you don’t count the homophobes?”

“...People don’t make  _ sense  _ to me, BJ.” He sniffled, turning away from him. “It’s like, they all just go around, wearing their sneakers that include their ankles, and nobody even  _ cares.  _ It’s like they don’t even  _ know  _ that they can barely move their goddamn ankles! Why does nobody agree with me on this?”

BoJack rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Uh… Because it’s not that big a deal?”

“Exactly!” He threw up his hands in frustration. “Am I crazy? I feel like I must be crazy. Nobody  _ gets  _ it but me. And I mean, I don’t know, I was sort of thinking, is  _ that  _ why you don’t love me?”

“...Over  _ shoes.”  _

Herb chuckled nervously. “Yeah, I guess I am kinda getting worked up over nothing.”

“Well,  _ yeah.  _ All of your problems can  _ literally  _ be solved in two seconds. Don’t like your shoes? Take them off! Feel like I don’t love you? Just  _ ask  _ me, because I do and I always will.” He took a deep breath. “I… I love you.”

“Love you too, BJ.”

BoJack sighed. “So, uh, maybe next time you have a series of things stressing you out, try the obvious solution before you run off crying?”

“Yeah, I’ve learned my lesson. I promise, no crying in Halloween parties over easily-solved problems for twenty years.”

He tilted his head. “Wait, so what about after that? Are you gonna do this again in 2018?”

“...Yeah, but, I mean, there’s that Y2K bug thing, so we’ll probably all be dead by then.”

* * *

He knocks on the door, frowning. “Herb?” The door remains locked. “Herb, please, come on.” 

It takes a long time for the lock to finally click and a longer time for the door to swing open. “...Hey.” It’s hard to tell by looking at him whether he’s just stopped crying or if he’s just about to start.

“Can I come in?”

He forces a laugh. “I dunno, can you?”

“Baby, please.” 

“Yeah, yeah, come in.” He opens the door a little wider so BoJack could enter the room, then quickly shuts it behind him. “Sorry about… you know.”

“I’m not mad,” says BoJack, frowning. He sits down on the bed, looking guiltily at his feet. “I just -- I don’t  _ get  _ it. Why won’t you just let me tie your goddamn shoelaces? It would make everything so much easier.”

“Yeah. I know.” His lip quivers.

“Oh,  _ baby…”  _ He pulls Herb toward him just in time for him to start sobbing into his chest. “You don’t need to be ashamed of asking for help.”

“I know, I know,” Herb insists.. “I mean, I know, but I don’t always  _ know,  _ you know?” He sniffles. “Like, sometimes I feel like if I can’t do everything by myself, then it means I’ve  _ failed.” _

“Well, you haven’t. And you can’t just walk around with your shoelaces untied all the time! You’ll trip again.”

“Yeah. I know.” He removes his face from its spot in BoJack’s chest and wipes his eyes. “God, this is so stupid. Why am I crying over this?” 

“We’ve both cried about dumber things before. And, it’s not stupid.”

“I just -- I don’t know why I’m so stressed over such a dumb thing, you know?” He turns his body away from BoJack. “I just, I’ve been feeling really depressed lately. But, I think I can get through it on my own.”

BoJack raises an eyebrow. “You sure you don’t want help?”

“I’m sure.”

“...But you  _ just  _ said that you feel like you need to do everything by yourself. And you expect me to believe that’s not why you’re saying you don’t need help?”

“BJ, I’m  _ fine.  _ Really. I can handle it.”

BoJack is about to think of a comeback when there’s a knock on the door. He groans. “Uh, we’re kind of having a moment here.”

“Sorry,” says Todd. “I just thought you should probably know, uh -- remember those extremely dangerous chemicals Hollyhock left here the last time she visited? The ones she said we all have to be very careful with?” He clears his throat. “Yeah, uh, they’re gone.”

“Ugh, next time you bother us it’d better be important.”

Herb frowns. “You sure that’s not important?”

“Yeah, it’s probably nothing.” He waves a hand dismissively. “What do you think’s gonna happen? I bet it’s not going to have any future consequences for us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just so you know I might not be able to get a chapter out tomorrow because ive got school


	25. Unconditional Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Herb's mental health worsens, BoJack tries to get him to open up about his feelings. Emily and Todd discuss how their romantic lives have been going now that they're just friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would you guys believe this is what I had in mind ever since Emily brought the ocean in chapter 1? and it only took 25 chapters and 90k words to pull it off.

He sleeps in, as one is prone to do when they don’t have the obligations of work on this specific day, and by the time he’s in any state to even look at his phone it’s a little after nine in the morning. It’s considerably later than that by the time he finishes scrolling through social media, which he sees no problem with, because once he’s up late enough he can justify not showering if it’s only been a day since his last shower. It’s not like he’s going anywhere. His therapist is probably going to be on his ass about this, but, well, who  _ cares  _ what she thinks? 

He does. More than he’d like to admit. He gets dressed without showering anyway.

He ventures out to the kitchen, but a joke about the Armenian genocide being  _ too much, man,  _ causes him to go to the living room before he’s decided what he wants for breakfast.  _ Horsin’ Around  _ is playing on the TV with the volume turned up so loud he’s surprised he slept through it, and Herb is sitting on the couch.

“...Hey.”

Herb looks up. “Oh, hi, BJ. Didn’t see you there.”

“More like you didn’t hear me coming because that TV’s about to break your goddamn ears.” He grabs the remote and turns the volume down significantly. “Where’s Todd?”

“Out doing stuff.”

“...How’s your arm doing?”

Herb unconsciously fidgets with the fabric of his sling. “Still broken,” he snarks. After a pause, he adds, “Doesn’t hurt anymore, so that’s good.” 

“Yeah, that’s good.” He frowns. “Have you eaten?”

“Yeah.” At BoJack’s raised eyebrow, he adds, “I didn’t want to make you wake up early on your day off, so I got stuff delivered.”

“Well, that’s nice.” He hesitates, then takes a seat next to him on the couch. “How’d you sleep?”

There’s a long, painful silence.

“Well,” says Herb. “it was pretty easy, really. First I turned the light off, and then I went to bed, and --”

“Herb.” He glances at the dark bags under Herb’s eyes. “How much sleep did you get last night?”

“...Like, eight?”

He narrows his eyes. “Eight hours or eight minutes?”

“Eight seconds. But, it’s fine!” He grins in a way that looks forced. “I don’t really  _ need  _ sleep.”

“...Yeah, you do.” His frown deepens. “Are you okay?”

Herb hesitates. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just woke up feeling shitty.”

“Yeah, you woke up feeling shitty yesterday, too. And the day before. And --”

“Okay, I get it.” He flops backward onto the couch cushions. “Fine, I’m still depressed. But, I mean, I’m not  _ depressed- _ depressed, you know? And I feel better anyway. I’m getting better.”

BoJack raises an eyebrow. “So, how long have you been wearing those same pyjamas for, again?”

“...Like, a week?” He waves his uninjured hand dismissively. “It’s getting cold, I’m not exactly sweating that much. And it’s hard to get the cast through the sleeves.”

“Herb…”

“I’m fine.” He takes his phone out of his pocket and struggles to unlock it with his non-dominant hand. “You know, maybe the reason I feel so down is just that I’ve been sitting around all day. I should look for a job.” His eyes widen. “Holy shit.”

“What?”

“There’s, like, a  _ huge  _ fire. And it’s pretty close to here! And... wait…” He scrolls up to make sure he’s not reading a satire site. “Oh shit, this is real?”

“What?” repeats BoJack.

“They’ve discovered that the fire inexplicably only goes out when you spray it with salt water, which they don’t have enough of. There are several sexy firemen asking the owner of the ocean to come forward and give them permission to use it.”

BoJack’s eyes widen. “...Huh.”

* * *

Several sexy firemen follow her around as she walks into the diner. Many blow kisses toward her, and she responds with a blush and a shy wink as she blows one right back. She can’t stop herself from giggling by the time she takes a seat, her face as red as her hair.

“Woah,” says Todd. “You seem popular.”

“Yeah, turns out saving Ollywoo from a fire is pretty cool to these people.” She brushes a stray lock of hair out of her face. “You know, if I knew I would eventually end up in a polyamorous relationship with an absurd amount of sexy firemen, I probably wouldn’t have pressured you for sex so much.”

“...Yeah.” His face falls.

“Oh, sorry.” She shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “Are you still upset about how I cheated on you?”

“...Kinda?” He shrinks in his chair. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I wish you hadn’t hurt me like that. But I think in a way it was for the best?” He gestures vaguely. “We’re just not compatible. We were going to break up at some point anyway. And, I think we’re better as friends.”

“Yeah, me too. How’s your dating life been going lately?”

He grimaces. “Not great.”

“Hmm?”

“Well, I think the best thing for me would be to find another asexual person, but that seems pretty unlikely. I mean, I met this asexual girl a while back, but we didn’t have anything in common, you know? I need an asexual girl who can see the fun in all my crazy schemes. But that’s never gonna happen.”

“Yeah, that is kind of unlikely.”

“Maybe I’ll just have to settle.” His phone buzzes and he quickly checks it. “Oh, it’s BoJack.”

“What does he want?”

“He’s asking if I want to go to the airport with him.”

She tilts her head, frowning. “Airport?”

“Yeah. Now that  _ Philbert’s  _ over, he and Herb get so bored that sometimes they drive all the way to the airport just to go to the cinnabunny store.”

“Wow, that sounds … kinda pathetic, honestly.” She leans over as he begins to type his reply. “Are you gonna go with them?”

“...No,” he decides. “Since I’m hanging out with you right now. But, maybe next time.”

* * *

He throws up his hands in frustration when the episode pauses. “BJ, I’m in the middle of an episode!”

“You already know what happens. You’ve watched it, like, a kajillion times. And you wrote it.” He hides the remote behind his back when Herb tries to swipe it. “If you don’t get up at some point in the next ten minutes then I’m just going to set you up with a therapist myself.” 

Herb stiffens. “Do you think you’re going to make me feel better by threatening me?”

“Yeah, it sounded better in my head. You know I’m not great with this emotional stuff.” He sits down on the couch, frowning. “You’ve literally been watching that show for fifteen hours straight.”

“It’s only been two hours since the last time I took a break.”

“Getting up to piss doesn’t count.” He hesitates. “Look, I get how it feels, okay? And I mean, I know how hard it is to get help. But I feel like --”

“I’m  _ fine,  _ BJ.” He flops backwards onto the couch. “I mean, I know I’m depressed, but I’m not  _ depressed,  _ you know? I can get through this on my own.”

“Never said you couldn’t,” replies BoJack stiffly. “It’s just -- I wonder if you  _ should  _ get through it on your own. Do you really need to suffer just because you can?”

“Well,  _ yeah.  _ I mean, I can’t just  _ give up.” _

“So I gave up?”

Herb freezes. BoJack smirks. It’s clear that he’s not actually  _ asking  _ so much as he’s  _ challenging  _ Herb, as though he somehow  _ wins  _ if Herb can’t think of an answer. Herb crosses his arms stubbornly. “That’s different.”

“How?”

“You tried to get through it on your own. For  _ decades.  _ And it almost killed you.”

“And you were telling me to get help  _ long  _ before it almost killed me. So, you  _ never  _ thought that seeking help meant you were  _ giving up  _ until it was  _ you  _ that needed help. Which means that’s not actually the problem, is it?”

Herb stiffens. “Look, can you just drop it?” He rubs his arm nervously. “I get that therapy’s helpful for you, and I would  _ never  _ try to say that you shouldn’t be doing it. But it’s important to  _ me  _ that I get through it by myself.”

“Oh, so I have to needlessly let you suffer because it’s  _ important  _ to you?”

There’s a long, painful silence.

“Can we not talk about this right now?” asks Herb uneasily.

BoJack gives him a look.

“BJ, please.” 

“We don’t have to talk about it  _ right now,” _ says BoJack. “But we do at some point, and I think it’s best if we don’t keep postponing it.”

“...What’s there to talk about?” asks Herb. “You already know why I don’t want to get help.” 

“Which is why I want to tell you that  _ it’s okay.”  _ He places a hand on his knee. “There’s no shame in asking for help.”

Herb scoffs. “For you, maybe. I am  _ very  _ ashamed of asking for help.” 

“Yeah, I kinda figured that when you made us all use paper plates for six weeks because washing the dishes was  _ your  _ job and you didn’t want help with it.” He frowns. “But  _ why?  _ Why should you hold yourself to a higher standard than anyone else?”

Herb remains silent.

“I  _ know  _ that you wouldn’t call me a failure for getting help. So why would you think that about yourself?”

“...It’s not  _ about  _ what I think.”

BoJack freezes. “Huh?”

“It’s not about me thinking of myself as a failure, it’s -- I’m worried about what  _ other  _ people will think.”

“That’s ridiculous, though.  _ Why  _ would you think that?”

“Oh, I dunno. Maybe because  _ somebody  _ spent the last few decades living in my house constantly talking about how  _ stupid  _ therapy is.”

BoJack’s face falls. “Babe, you  _ know  _ I only used to say that shit to justify not getting help. I never meant for you to take it personally.”

“Yeah, I know. But I did.” He forces a chuckle. “Pretty stupid, huh?”

“N-No. Don’t call yourself stupid for believing what I say, okay? It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have said that shit in the first place.” His frown deepens. “You  _ do  _ know that, right? That I would never,  _ ever  _ be upset with you for asking for help because I love you unconditionally?”

“...I don’t think I  _ believe  _ in unconditional love.”

BoJack tilts his head, still frowning. “But I thought you loved  _ me  _ unconditionally.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I love you a lot. But  _ unconditionally? _ I mean, if you were hurting me over and over again, I wouldn’t just take it because I love you. I have my limits.” He tugs on a loose thread of a couch cushion. “I think all of us do, honestly. And people can  _ say  _ they’ll love you no matter what, and you can believe them, but there’s  _ always  _ those little exceptions, and you can’t  _ know  _ what they are.”

BoJack’s face falls. “Your parents.”

“Well, yeah. How am I supposed to believe people who say they’ll love me no matter what, when the first people I can remember telling me that were lying?”

“...I don’t know,” says BoJack finally. “But I mean, I think you  _ have  _ to. You  _ have  _ to trust that the people in your life aren’t gonna abandon you. And sometimes they’re going to anyway, and you’re gonna feel  _ so  _ stupid for ever trusting them in the first place, and you’re gonna wanna put up all these walls so you never get hurt again. But you can’t do that, because you have to trust people. It’s human nature.”

Herb scoffs. “What do you know about human nature?”

“You know what I mean.” He slings an arm around his shoulders. “Feeling any better?”

“No.  _ Why  _ would I feel any better?” He crosses his arms stubbornly. “You know I don’t like talking about my feelings.”

“Yeah, I know. But I think you  _ have  _ to, sometimes.”

“Why? It doesn’t make me feel better. It doesn’t make the person I’m talking to feel better. And, sometimes it just ends badly… for everyone.”

BoJack frowns. “Huh?”

“I mean, sometimes it feels like every time I open up to people, I end up getting hurt somehow. You know?” He rubs his arm nervously. “When I was in high school I tried to vent to my friend about how I didn’t  _ get  _ why I felt so  _ weird  _ around hot guys, and the next thing I knew half the school was bullying me and I had to work my ass off to stop my sisters from finding out. And then in the 90s, I called my mom talking about how I was  _ so  _ alone now that I’d been outed, except that just made things worse because she’d been telling herself it was all just a rumour, and then she disowned me and died hating me. And then…”

The sentence dissolves into a low murmur. BoJack perks his ears up, straining to hear, but he can’t. “...What?”

“...And then,” says Herb, quietly. “Some  _ guy  _ from my work happened to ask me out. So I went on a date with him, and I tried to act like I was fine, but I couldn’t, so he asked me what was wrong. So I explained how the fact that my mom no longer considered me her son was kind of a bummer, and he went on this weird rant about how family is a crapshoot anyway, and then for some reason asked how many times she’d tried to kill me. And then I started crying, and he freaked out because he wasn’t good with crying people.”

“I’m still not, honestly.”

“So then he just tried to distract me by spending all of his money on glow sticks, which didn’t help. And I asked if I could vent to him a little, and he shrugged and said I could talk if I wanted but he didn’t know how to help, and then I made some witty remark about how that’s what venting is. And it took me  _ years  _ to trust him enough to tell him everything, but eventually, I did. And  _ then… _ ” He glares. “Then, twenty-five years later, I found out that he’d gone and told goddamned Emily.”

There’s a long, painful silence.

“...Oh,” says BoJack.

“So forgive me if I’m a little hesitant to talk about my feelings to the person who’s  _ proved  _ that he might just go ahead and tell someone I  _ barely  _ know, immediately after cheating on me with them, just because she  _ asks nicely.” _

“...Oh,” says BoJack again. “Well, this is awkward. ...You know, I think I left the oven on.”

Herb frowns. “But you haven’t used the oven at all today.”

“I know, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. So, I’m going to go and check that the oven’s off, and I will not be back for several hours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugggh guys I am soooo sorry that I cant do daily updates anymore! it was manageable when the covid-related restrictions were stricter because I was having to do all my schoolwork from home (which meant I didn't have to get ready every day, didn't have to worry about transport, and had free time if I finished my work early, so I had loads of spare time) but now im having to go back to school daily again so its near impossible to churn out upwards of 3k words every goddamn day.
> 
> next chapter (which will be the last chapter unless it ends up being surprisingly long) miiight come out tomorrow but most likely the day after.


	26. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah Lynn relapses. BoJack grows increasingly frustrated with Herb's declining mental health.

She turned her phone off for  _ fifteen minutes. _

It was a normal thing to do. She was going to shower and she didn’t want the stupid thing to drain all its battery power by turning on at the maximum brightness every few seconds when she gets a text. Of course, she could just plug it in to charge if that happens, but that would be a whole thing. So, she turned it off, showered, and then got dressed.

She turns it on, and it almost immediately crashes.

It crashes a second time on her first attempt to view the groupchat that’s been sending her so many ruthless notifications, but by the third attempt it’s evidently gotten its shit together, because it allows her to  _ slowly  _ scroll through the messages.

_ BoJack: so, uh, guys… _

_ BoJack: hypothetically _

_ BoJack: if you cheated on your husband _

_ BoJack: and then lied about if for 8 months _

_ BoJack: and then finally told him about it on the worst day of his life _

_ BoJack: and then several months after he forgave you it turned out he was still hurt over it _

_ BoJack: and when you first found out he was still hurt you didnt know what to say so you just pretended you were checking that the oven wasnt on and stayed in the kitchen for several hours _

_ BoJack: and that was a week ago _

_ BoJack: if, hypothetically, you were in that situation _

_ BoJack: what would you do? _

_ Sarah Lynn: set his ottoman on fire _

_ BoJack: ...any other suggestions? _

_ Sarah Lynn: ok boomer _

_ Bradley: What does that even mean??? _

_ Sarah Lynn: oh youl get it in like 2 years _

_ Bradley: How? _

_ Sarah Lynn: i have 2020 vision _

_ BoJack: oh my god did you relapse? _

_ Bradley: ...How did you guess that she relapsed based on that one incomprehensible sentence? _

_ Sarah Lynn: *they _

_ Bradley: What? _

_ BoJack: ugh try to keep up brad _

_ Sarah Lynn: roses are red, im on a bender, i use they/them now so get with the program brad _

_ Bradley: I kind of feel like there was a word you could have used there that would have rhymed with “bender”. _

_ BoJack: congrats brad, you’re a poet and you’re not even aware of it. _

_ BoJack: anyway what do i do about herb?  _

_ Sarah Lynn: like i said set his ottoman on fire _

_ BoJack: ...Again, any other suggestions? _

_ Bradley: Have you apologised to him? _

_ BoJack: yeah like a kajillion times _

_ Sarah Lynn: ok heres some genuine advice _

_ Sarah Lynn: dont do drugs mmkay? _

_ Bradley: I thought you were on a bender? _

_ Sarah Lynn: yeah and it sucks _

_ Sarah Lynn: like earlier i got kicked out of disneyland for biting buzz lightyear _

_ BoJack: i mean thanks for the advice but that doesn’t help. _

_ BoJack: what do i do about herb??? _

_ Sarah Lynn: idk man maybe you gotta talk to him? Jeez idk how to apologise to people that have z fetishes because of their dead mom _

_ Bradley: I’m kind of getting the sense that a lot of this conversation revolves around context that I don’t have and nobody is willing to fill it in for me. _

_ BoJack: youre being ridiculous. Just like mr peanutbutter with his stupidass converse at my halloween party. Anyway youre right about herb having a z fetish. _

_ Bradley: Rich coming from the guy named Horseman. That’s literally like if my name was Bradley Humanman.  _

_ Bradley: Actually I kind of feel like that would be an improvement. _

_ Sarah Lynn: ugggh my last name is the woooorst guys. Its just another first name like goddamn jake paul. Nobody has ever suffered more than me because of last names _

_ Bradley: … _

_ Sarah Lynn: oh yeah i forgot u! Must be pretty hard for u 2. I mean smith? So boring _

_ Bradley: Not what I meant.  _

_ BoJack: Uh hello??? Guy with problem! _

_ Sarah Lynn: ur the guy with problem? I just got kicked out of disneyland for biting buzz lightyear _

_ Bradley: Why?? _

_ Sarah Lynn: in my defense i thought he was someone else _

_ BoJack: Wait. _

_ BoJack: Where are you? _

_ Bradley: At home. _

_ BoJack: was not talking to you _

_ Sarah Lynn: Outside disneyland after i got kicked out for biting buzz lightyear, who in my defense i thought was someone else _

_ BoJack: can i do that thing where i become your designated driver/sober-upperer so i have an excuse not to deal with my own shit? _

_ Bradley: That sounds irresponsible. _

_ BoJack: you’re right, it’s not a good idea. _

_ BoJack: stay outside disneyland im on my way over now _

_ Bradley: I don’t know why i bother. _

_ Joelle: ...guys. _

_ Joelle: i turn my phone off _

_ Joelle: for FIFTEEN MINUTES _

_ Joelle: also who did you think buzz lightyear was?  _

* * *

He takes a deep breath, and turns the doorknob.

“Sarah Lynn’s okay.” He anxiously closes the door behind him. “Even managed to convince them not to just give up and fly off the deep end now that they’ve relapsed.”

“Well, that’s good.”

He waits for BoJack to say something else. When this fails to happen, he turns his attention back to the television.

“...Please tell me you haven’t just been watching  _ Horsin’ Around  _ the whole time I was gone.”

“Not the whole time,” explains Herb, pointing at an opened box of glow sticks lying on the coffee table. “I went to the store and got glow sticks and had fun with those for a whole, but then I got bored.”

“...What the  _ hell,  _ dude?”

Herb flinches. “What?”

“I just walked into the living room and said, ‘Sarah Lynn relapsed, I’m gonna go pick them up’, and you said, ‘Oh shit, are they okay?’, and then I said that I think so, and  _ that was all.”  _ He irritably hangs his jacket on a hook on the inside of the door. “You’d think you’d at least offer to come, but I guess not.” 

Herb frowns. “I mean, I haven’t showered in days. I didn’t want to hold you up.”

“You think that makes it okay?! That’s  _ worse!  _ That is  _ so  _ much worse. Ugh, I feel like I can’t even  _ recognize  _ you anymore!”

Herb bites his lip, staring at BoJack with wide, anxious eyes. “...BJ, can you not?”

“...” BoJack grimaces. “...Yeah. Yeah, I shouldn’t have yelled. Sorry for snapping at you.” He stands in front of the door for a moment, then sighs. “Can we talk?”

“I don’t know, can we?”

“Good one. You should be a teacher.”

“...Maybe I  _ should.”  _ His eyes widen. “I mean, think about it. I  _ love  _ kids, you know that. I have a ridiculous amount of useless trivia knowledge, plus I wrote a sitcom once -- I could teach English. And, I’m  _ really  _ good at answering questions in a way that doesn’t actually answer the question.” He sits bolt upright on the couch. “It’s not too late for me to study kids in uni, right? This actually seems like a good idea.”

“Yeah, it does!” He sits on the couch next to him. “Go ahead, if that’s what you want.”

“...No, it’s stupid.” His face falls. “I probably wouldn’t be any good at it.”

“...And  _ that’s  _ what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Herb raises an eyebrow. “You wanted to talk to me about how I’d be a shitty teacher?”

“What? No!” He smacks himself in the forehead. “I meant -- you can’t keep  _ thinking  _ of stuff that might make you feel better and then immediately giving up on them! And, stuff like ‘I probably wouldn’t be any good at it’ really isn’t the sort of thinking pattern that’s gonna help you.”

“So? It’s true. I’d be a  _ rubbish  _ teacher. I can’t do math for shit and I don’t know how to, you know,  _ teach.  _ Even  _ you’d  _ be a better teacher than me.”

“Eh, it’d be pretty hard for me to get a job with kids, considering that I once freaked out and flipped a random woman’s stroller because you mentioned adoption.”

“University, though. I could see you teaching drama.”

“Okay, maybe you wouldn’t be a good teacher, but … look on the bright side!” He gestures wildly. “You’re an  _ amazing  _ writer…”

“Nobody likes my book.”

“An amazing  _ sitcom  _ writer…”

“I stole most of the ideas from my own childhood.”

“A  _ great  _ husband…”

“I literally got so pissed when I  _ thought  _ you cheated on me that I didn’t notice when you developed an eating disorder.” 

“...You’re surprisingly good at basketball?”

“I only beat you that one time because you flinched every time the ball went near you.”   
“...You’re good at … using glow sticks?”

“Not a skill.”

BoJack smacks himself in the forehead. “You recognize you’re being impossible, right?”

“...Yeah. I know.” He sighs. “I just -- I don’t know how I can  _ trust  _ you again. After the whole thing with Emily. I don’t know how I can trust you again.”

“...You can’t. But you have to.”

Herb’s head shoots up. “Huh?”

“You  _ can’t  _ trust me again. I mean, that would be  _ nuts.  _ I’ve already proved I can’t be trusted. I sure as hell wouldn’t trust me if I were in your position. But, you have to.” He clears his throat nervously. “Because right now, you need help. And I am trying to help you. And you can’t go through life without ever relying on other people. And it’s risky, but, well, trusting people is  _ always  _ a risk. So are you going to actually reach out and get help, or are you gonna sit around feeling sorry for yourself for the next thirty years?”

There’s a long, ominous silence.

“Well, I  _ could  _ just sit around feeling sorry for myself for the next thirty years.”

BoJack glares.

“Just kidding. I’ll, uh -- I’ll book an appointment.”

BoJack’s eyes light up with an almost childlike glee. “Really?”

“Yeah. You win.”

“No,  _ you  _ win.” He stares at Herb for several moments, then, without hesitation, leans forward and kisses him. 

* * *

He smiles into the rear vision mirror, leaning back in his seat. “Isn’t it  _ amazing  _ that it’s currently 2019?”

“I agree,” says Hollyhock, in the back seat. “I mean, I’ve been calling you guys regularly, and I’m also living in 2019, so I know what’s happened recently, but why don’t you recap your year for me anyway?”

“Okay,” says BoJack. “Well, now that we’ve both stopped being stubborn assholes and actually gone to therapy, we’re both  _ thriving.  _ And so are you! Sarah Lynn just broke their record for being sober. Plus, Todd’s been dating the woman from the Cinnabunny for a few months, and they’re great together. Also, I know you don’t know or care who Diane and Princess Carolyn are, but I still feel the urge to inform you that Diane’s living happily in Chicago with her boyfriend, feeling great now that she’s on antidepressants, and Princess Carolyn finally had some success adopting a baby and her work-life balance is doing great.”

“Wow,” says Hollyhock. “Literally everything you just said was either information I already know, or stuff that has nothing to do with me that I couldn’t even fully understand because I don’t have the necessary context. Thank you for telling me!”

“And now,” says Herb. “Here we are, in Connecticut, visiting you.”

Hollyhock clears her throat nervously. “Actually, I’ve been kinda stressed lately.” 

BoJack’s face falls. “Why? What’s going on?”

“Oh, nothing much, it’s just -- my friend Tawnie’s upset because she might have to change her major, and she keeps taking it out on me. And, I mean, I don’t want to just  _ let  _ her be mean to me, but I also don’t want to make things harder for her, you know?” 

“That sucks,” says Herb. “Have you tried, I dunno, telling her not to take it out on you?”

“Eh, it’s kinda hard to talk to her when she’s angry. Usually I just wait for her to calm down and then we collectively pretend it never happened. I  _ wish  _ she would apologise, though.”

“Yeah,” says BoJack. “She sounds pretty mean. Why’s she gonna have to change her major, anyway?”

“Oh, our drama professor quit, and she’ll have to change if we can’t find another drama teacher.”

There’s a long, painful silence.

“Huh,” says BoJack.

Herb nudges him in the ribs. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“...Yeah,” says BoJack after a long pause. “Yeah, I think I am.”


End file.
